LIBRARY 

OK  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


GIFT    OF 


THE  BANCROFT  LIBRARY 


THE 


FLIGHT  INTO  EGYPT. 


NARRATIVE    POEM, 


WITH  SOME 


MINOR  POEMS. 


BY 

THOS.  E.  VAN  BEBBER, 

Author  of  "Quinten   Metsys,  or  the  Blacksmith  of  Antwerp,"  "Ponce  De  Leon, 
or  the  Search  after  the   Fountain  of,  Ycv.st V  etc. 


SAtt  FRANCISCO: 

A.  L.  BANCROFT  &  CO.,  PRINTERS. 

1880. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1880, 

BY  THOS.  E.  VAN  BEBBER, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


V5 


DEDICATION 

TO 

W.   C.   VAN   BIBBER,    M.D., 

OF  BALTIMORE. 


Permit  me  to  dedicate  these  Poems  to  one  who,  notwithstanding 
a  slight  difference  in  our  way  of  spelling  the  family  name,  has 
always  been  to  me  the  truest  of  brothers,  both  by  ties  of  blood,  and 
by  never-ceasing  acts  of  fraternal  affection.  Frequent  researches 
among  old  family  letters  and  records,  some  of  these  extending  in 
point  of  time  as  far  back  as  two  centuries,  and  in  point  of  space  to 
the  ancient  city  of  Utrecht,  in  Holland,  have  induced  me  to  use  an 
e  instead  of  an  i  in  the  second  syllable  of  our  common  name.  This 
trifle  would  be  unworthy  of  mention,  were  it  not  that  it  might  cause 
surprise  and  misapprehension  in  the  minds  of  some  not  acquainted 
with  the  circumstances. 

Should  the  Poems,  and  particularly  the  principal  one,  entitled 
"The  Flight  into  Egypt,"  secure  to  the  writer  as  high  a  reputation 
in  literature  as  you,  my  brother,  have  so  deservedly  won  for  your- 
self in  your  profession,  he  would  deem  himself  fortunate,  and  might 
hope  that  some  mutual  friend  might  honor  us  with  the  applausive 
Latin  quotation,  "Par  nobile  Fratrum"  But  should  failure, 
instead  of  success,  await  my  efforts,  this  Dedication  will  remain  as 
a  proof  of  affection  on  my  part,  without  detracting  in  the  least  from 
the  honor  of  your  well-merited  laurels. 

SANTA  BARBARA,  August  15,  1880. 


229498 


CONTENTS. 


MINOR  POEMS. 

Page 

Awakening  of  the  Breeze  in  Summer 5 

Blowing  Soap-Bubbles 14 

Bow  of  Calycanthus,  The 3 

Burning  Brush:  A  Farmer's  Lay 24 

Butterfly's  Egg,  A 15 

Draining,  The:  A  Farmer's  Lay 18 

Easter  Eggs 30 

Feeding-Time  in  Winter  in  the  East 16 

Iduna's  Apples 10 

Invalid's  Morning  Watch  in  Winter,  The 26 

Little  Star-Flower's  Short  Life  and  Happy  Death 23 

Lover's  Whispering  Gallery  under  the  Sea,  The 27 

Mystic  Mirror,  The 28 

Sanguinaria I 

Something  almost  too  Silly  for  Verse 29 

Sonnet 22 

Sonnet:  Of  Men  and  Planets 28 

Sonnet  on  a  Beetle  Picked  up  on  the  Sea- Shore 4 

Sonnets  Addressed  to  Professor  J.  W.  Reese 17 

Strange  Sounds  Heard  around  the  World 19 

To  a  Night-Hawk 31 

Two  Sisters,  The 30 

Vestal  Virgin  of  Tibur,  The 8 

WINTER  POEMS: 

Bright  Morning,  A 6 

Ice-Pictures 6 

On  Seeing  the  Moon  Rise  beyond  a  Distant  Wood 8 


vi  Contents. 


THE  FLIGHT  INTO  EGYPT. 


BOOK  I. 

HOLYLAND. 
Canto  Page 

I.  OLD  BATTLEFIELD  SEEN  BY  A  NEW  LIGHT 35 

II.  AMONG  THE  SHEPHERDS 43 

III.  A  BLESSING  FROM  INFANT  LIPS 50 

IV.  JOSEPH'S  REMINISCENCES  OF  EARLY  LIFE 60 

V.  PROSPECTS  PAST,  PRESENT,  AND  FUTURE 67 

VI.  THE  ROMAN  CAMP 72 

VII.  VICTOR  AND  HIS  EAGLE 83 

VIII.  VICTOR,  THE  RESCUER 89 

IX.  THE  EAGLE  AND  THE  DOVE 97 

BOOK  II. 

BORDERLAND. 

I.     THE  YOUNG  ROMAN  SOLDIER 103 

II.     THE  HUNTERS'  RENDEZVOUS 113 

III.  "PAN  is  DEAD" 118 

IV.  THE  CAVE  OF  THE  SEVEN  CEDARS 122 

V.  RENDEZVOUS  OF  ANGELS 127 

VI.     THE  BRIDGES 138 

VII.     THE  ARAB  ENCAMPMENT 148 

BOOK  III. 

BORDERLAND    CONTINUED. 

I.     MYSTERY  OF  SOUND— MYSTERY  OF  WATER 154 

II.     HALT  BY  A  WAYSIDE  SPRING 162 

III.  THE  SERPENT 173 

IV.  KEDAR,  THE  WILD  HALF-BREED 178 

V.     THE  Two  JOSEPHS 186 

VI.     THE  LOVE-FEAST  ON  THE  MOUNT 199 

VII.     KING  HEROD  AND  THE  YOUNG  MOTHER 208 


MINOR  POEMS. 


SANGUINARIA. 

Deep  in  the  woods,  midst  oak  leaves  dry  and  sere, 
Midst  moss  and  prickly  burrs, 
Where  the  lone  ring-dove  chirrs, 

Or  where,  aroused  by  random  footstep  near, 
The  startled  peasant  whirrs 

In  leveled  flight  along  the  fern-clad  brooks, 
A  wild-flower  may  be  found, 
Scarce  peeping  from  the  ground, 

About  the  time  of  Easter.     In  moist  nooks, 
With  solitude  around, 

And  cloistered  from  its  birth,  it  shrinks  from  sight. 
Ring,  from  yon  sacred  pile, 
Sweet  Easter-bells,  the  while 

To  count  its  folded  petals,  ermine-white, 
We  tread  some  forest  aisle. 


2  Minor  Poems. 

Eight  flower-leaves  ?     Eight  ?     Without  a  spot  or  stripe  ? 

Oh !  how  our  hearts  should  pant 

O'er  this  pure  woodland  plant, 
When  in  it  we  behold  a  flowery  type 

Of  the  New  Covenant — 

Of  a  new  Sabbath.     Should  you  pierce  its  side 

With  cruel  murderous  knife, 

Large  purple  drops  of  life 
Ooze  from  the  wound,  as  erst  from  His  who  died 

To  quell  sin's  serpent  strife. 

But  more  to  fill  our  spirits  with  amaze, 

Pure  plant  of  modest  mien! 

A  leaf  of  tender  green, 
Cleft  in  seven  parts,  type  of  the  seven  first  days, 

Clasping  thy  stalk  is  seen. 

Thus  springing  spotless  from  the  damps  of  death, 

Self-shrinking,  thou  dost  pray; 

Nor  can  the  star  of  day 
Impart  aroma  to  thy  scentless  breath, 

Or  give  thee  colors  gay. 

So  much  the  more,  cold  flower,  dost  thou  dispense 

An  incorporeal  heat, 

Drawn  from  no  solar  seat, 
But  thrilling  rapturous  through  the  inner  sense 

Like  angel-kisses  sweet. 


Minor  Poems. 


THE   BOW   OF   CALYCANTHUS. 


It  was  a  mild  Sabbath  afternoon,  in  the  early  part  of  February,  that  a  father 
and  his  three  children  strolled  forth  to  bask  in  the  sun  beneath  the  southern 
side  of  a  high  garden  wall.  Not  a  spring  bird  had  yet  made  its  appearance; 
not  a  violet  orheart's-ease  had  opened  its  petals;  the  wheat  fields  as  yet  showed 
no  tint  of  returning  greenness,  and  yet  the  temperature  of  the  air  in  that  shel- 
tered spot  was  delicious.  The  youngest  of  the  three  children,  a  boy  of  five, 
had,  in  passing,  plucked  from  a  shrub  bush  a  bough,  from  which  he  had  fash- 
ioned for  himself  both  bow  and  arrows.  This  plant,  as  is  well  known,  retains 
the  fragrance  of  its  bark  all  through  the  winter,  and  may,  with  propriety,  be 
termed  an  ever-sweet.  One  of  its  names  is  "  Carolina  Allspice,"  another  the 
simple  word  "  shrub,"  perhaps  from  the  fact  that  of  all  shrubs  it  is  the  most 
interesting,  whilst  in  botanical  works  it  is  called  by  the  high-sounding  title  of 
Calycanthus.  As  the  father  viewed  his  boy  thus  equipped,  he  could  not  for- 
bear calling  to  mind  the  image  of  Camdeo  or  Camadeva,  the  Cupid  of  India, 
who  is  represented  as  "  armed  with  a  bow  of  sugar-cane,  with  a  string  of  beads, 
and  five  arrows,  each  pointed  with  an  Indian  blossom."  The  moon — and  what 
is  more  delicately  beautiful  than  the  moon  of  daylight  ?— hung  like  a  floating 
lump  of  ice  near  the  zenith.  Under  such  circumstances,  the  father,  we  may 
suppose,  might  have  composed  something  better  than  the  following  poetical 
trifle;  but  as  it  is  the  best  he  seems  capable  of,  it  is  submitted  as  received 
from  his  own  hands. 

My  plaided  boy-archer  is  bending  his  bow; 

In  bright  tartans  prankt,  from  his  clan  thus 
Some  Highland  lad  starts  on  the  chase  of  the  roe; 

No  violet  yet  blooms,  no  gay  polyanthus, 
And  yet  the  light  zephyrs  that  round  the  boy  blow 

Are  scented  with  sweet  Calycanthus. 

The  heavens,  this  bright  sunny-clear  afternoon, 
Seem  enwreathed  with  supreme  amaranthus; 

Sky,  water,  and  earth  are  all  dancing  in  tune, 

And  as  joy's  brimming  chalice,  high-hung,  has  o'er- 
ran  thus, 

The  rosy  boy  shoots  at  the  dimly-seen  moon 
With  spiced  arrows  of  sweet  Calycanthus. 


4  Minor  Poems. 

As  the  shaft  he  draws  back  with  a  Cupid-like  hand, 

And  points  it  at  heaven's  blue  dome,  a 
Fragrance  of  bruises  around  him  is  fanned; 

Oh!  had  the  bough  ripened,  some  maid  had  borne 

home  a 
Full  bosom  of  odors  more  mellow  and  bland, 

Blood-warm  with  a  richer  aroma. 

But  why  with  regrets  need  we  darken  the  joy 
That  sweetens  life's  lessening  span  thus, 

And  why  should  the  sport  which  so  gladdens  the  boy 

Not  gladden  as  well  the  grown  man  ?     Thus, 
"  On  with  your  archery,"  cry  we,  "  my  boy, 

One  bough  from  the  bush  will  by  no  means  destroy 
All  the  shrubs  of  our  sweet  Calycanthus." 


SONNET  ON  A  BEETLE  PICKED  UP  ON  THE  SEASHORE. 

How  short  our  longest  fathom-lines  can  reach 

When  sounding  secret  Nature's  mystic  law ! 

Walking  where  ever-booming  billows  draw 
Their  varying  surf-lines  on  the  fluted  beach, 
Intent  to  learn  what  Ocean  old  might  teach, 

I  saw  and  heard  what  thrilled  me  with  pteased  awe. 

A  text  in  unknown  characters  I  saw, 
On  which  a  sage,  before  the  flood,  might  preach 

Deep  sermons,  and  inculcate  line  on  line. 
The  text  was  couched  in  characters  antique, 

Such  as  might  fit  some  immemorial  shrine 
That  had  seemed  ancient  to  an  ancient  Greek; 
Three  letters  on  each  wing!     Oh!  could  they  speak, 

Be  sure  they  would  proclaim  some  truth  divine. 


Minor  Poems. 


AWAKENING  OF  THE  BREEZE  IN  SUMMER. 

How  calm  this  summer  morn  reposes ! 
How  dreamily  each  tree-top  dozes! 

Softly  creep 

Slumbers  deep 
O'er  poppy-heads  and  beds  of  pillowed  roses. 

Untwinkling  gems  hang,  scarce  adorning 

The  dead-still  trees; 
The  flowers,  top-heavy,  seem  their  dewdrops  scorning; 

Wake,  gentle  breeze! 
Awake!  and  rouse  to  life  this  drowsy  morning. 

It  wakes !     The  floweret  from  its  pillow 

Heaves  with  delight; 

All  shivering,  white 
With  joy,  upleaps  the  maple  and  the  weeping  willow. 

Arch  aspens,  which  have  been  dissembling 

An  ill-feigned  sleep, 

With  lightning-leap 
Now  thrill  and  flutter  into  rapturous  trembling. 

O'er  wheat  fields  which  have  stood  all  moveless,  sunning 

Their  gold-green  heads, 

Now,  rapid  spreads 
Circle  on  circle,  up  the  high  hills  running. 

Words  can  not  paint  how  much  thy  advent  blesses, 
Thou  breezelet  sweet, 
Fanning  flushed  summer's  heat, 

And  sporting  with  my  loved  one's  raven  tresses. 


Minor  Poems. 


WINTER  POEMS. 
I. 

A     BRIGHT     MORNING. 

Now  beneath  unclouded  skies 

Snowy  fields  are  all  ablaze, 
Now  the  whizzing  snowball  flies, 

While  the  school-boy  as  he  plays 
Often  shields  his  dazzled  eyes; 

Hark !  the  many-colored  sleighs, 
Flying  rainbows  hung  with  bells, 
How  their  music  sinks  and  swells! 

Angels  float  on  sunny  cars 

Through  the  heavenly  mansions  bright; 
Too  much  radiance  only  mars 

Mortal  man's  unquickened  sight; 
Let  us  wait  until  the  stars 

And  the  moon  adorn  the  night, 
Then  with  merriest  bells  let's  go, 
Lovely  lady,  o'er  the  snow. 

n. 

ICE-PICTURES. 

Lo !  where  the  freezing  waters  slumber 

Deep  in  the  bosom  of  yon  wood, 
Bright  fairy  castles  without  number 

Gleam  gayly  o'er  the  pictured  flood; 
Here,  crystal  warriors  slowly  marching 

Tread  up  and  down  the  turrets  tall, 
There,  deer  with  antlers  overarching, 

Repose  beneath  the  castle-wall. 


Minor  Poems.  7 

Here,  fleetly  ranging  o'er  blue  mountains, 

Trim  hunters  rouse  the  jolly  morn, 
There,  knights  are  grouped  around  the  fountains, 

Each  with  his  spear  and  silver  horn. 
Behold  yon  forests  wildly  gleaming, 

O'erhung  with  pearls  of  countless  price ! 
Say,  can  the  quiet  waters,  dreaming, 

Imprint  their  visions  thus  on  ice  ? 

And  can  not  summer's  sunshine  render 

The  waves  as  fair  as  when  they  freeze, 
Though  then  they  mirror  back  the  splendor 

Of  golden  clouds  and  hanging  trees; 
Though  o'er  them  then  the  red-bird  glances 

And  throws  his  image  down  below, 
And  many  a  crimson  flow'ret  dances 

Beside  the  waters  as  they  flow? 

The  slavish  mirror  blindly  molding 

The  shadowy  shapes  of  real  things, 
Is  now  an  active  power  unfolding 

Its  own  self-formed  imaginings; 
And  where  in  summer  leaves  were  waving 

Far  down  its  depths  on  headlong  trees, 
Now  the  fair  stream  is  seen  engraving 

Its  own  delicious  phantasies. 

Then  we  beheld  wild-clustering  roses 

Adown  its  bosom  growing  ripe, 
But  now  that  magic  glass  discloses 

Strange  flowers  without  a  prototype. 
Thus,  when  o'er  fields  of  desolation, 

Hope's  withered  leaves  and  blooms  are  whirled, 
Fresh  thoughts  spring  forth  by  self-creation, 

And,  freezing,  form  a  brighter  world. 


Minor  Poems. 
in. 

ON  SEEING  THE  MOON  RISE  BEHIND  A  DISTANT  WOOD. 

As  when  some  stately  man-of-war, 
Slow  rocking  near  the  harbor  bar, 
Is  seen  by  sunrise  from  afar 
With  every  tiny  rope  and  spar 

Athwart  the  red  clouds  heaving; 
Thus,  o'er  yon  hill-top's  rocky  brow 
Which  darkening  veils  o'erhung  till  now, 
Each  little  twig,  each  slender  bough 

Is  seen  its  network  weaving. 

More  charming  than  the  woods  of  June, 
Like  stones  for  Gothic  churches  hewn, 
Strange  lines  are  penciled  on  the  moon; 
But  soon  the  fairy  show,  too  soon, 

Departs,  and  leaves  no  traces; 
The  trees,  like  things  deformed  and  black, 
Sink  to  their  former  darkness  back. 
While  she  pursues  her  upward  track 

With  all  the  lunar  graces. 


THE  VESTAL  VIRGIN  OF  TIBUR  (THE  MODERN  TIVOLI). 

Where  classic  Arno's  billows  roar 

Adown  the  toppling  Appenine, 
A  temple  stood  in  days  of  yore 

Engirt  with  cypress  trees  and  pine; 
High-poised  above  the  cascade's  foam, 

The  view  extended  many  a  mile, 
And  on  clear  days  the  towers  of  Rome 

Were  seen  from  off  the  peristyle. 


Minor  Poems.  9 

The  vapors  of  the  waterfall 

Full  oft  around  its  columns  curled; 
Bent  in  a  circle  was  its  wall, 

Type  of  the  universal  world ;  * 
Along  its  sculptured  frieze  was  seen 

A  yoke  of  oxen  moving  slow, 
As  if  in  search  of  pastures  green, 

Or  meads  where  golden  willows  grow. 

There,  many  a  year,  sweet  vestal  maid, 

Far  from  thy  friends  and  pleasant  home 
Thou  trod'st  the  circling  colonnade, 

Or  knelt  beneath  the  sphery  dome; 
Methinks  I  see  thee  even  now ! 

Around  thy  head  waves  many  a  tress, 
A  saintly  halo  decks  thy  brow, 

And  thou  art  steeped  in  loveliness. 

And  thou  so  long  hast  gazed  upon 

The  flame  that  burns  on  Vesta's  shrine, 
The  hallowed  essence  of  the  sun, 

That  unpolluted  thoughts  are  thine, 
And  thou  art  purer  than  the  moon. 

The  sun-fire  is  thy  paramour, 
And  like  a  statue  freshly  hewn, 

Thou  art  all  heavenly,  white  and  pure. 

*The  circular  form  always  observable  in  the  temples  of  Vesta  has  been  vari- 
ously accounted  for  by  different  authors.  Dion.  Hal.  thought  it  was  intended 
to  represent  the  Earth.  Plutarch,  however,  gives  a  far  more  beautiful  and  phil- 
osophical explanation.  He  remarks  that  "  Numa  built  the  temple  of  Vesta, 
where  the  perpetual  fire  was  to  be  kept,  in  an  orbicular  form;  not  intending 
to  represent  the  figure  of  the  Earth,  as  if  that  were  meant  by  Vesta;  but  the 
frame  of  the  Universe,  in  the  center  of  which  the  Pythagoreans  place  the  ele- 
ment of  fire,  and  give  it  the  names  of  Vesta  and  Unity.  The  Earth  they  sup- 
pose not  to  be  without  motion,  nor  situated  in  the  center  of  the  world,  but  to 
make  its  revolution  round  the  sphere  of  fire,  being  one  neither  of  the  most  val- 
uable nor  principal  parts  of  the  great  machine." — See  Life  of  Numa,  169. 


io  Minor  Poems. 


IDUNA'S  APPLES. 


THE  following  little  poem  is  founded  on  a  circumstance  mentioned  in  the 
Icelandic  Edda,  the  Pantheon  of  Scandinavian  Mythology.  The  gods  pre- 
vented the  effect  of  old  age  and  decay,  by  eating  certain  apples,  trusted  to  the 
care  of  Iduna,  the  goddess  of  perpetual  youth.  Once  on  a  time,  Lok,  the  Mo- 
mus  of  the  Scandinavians,  craftily  conveyed  her  away,  together  with  her  inval- 
uable fruit,  and  concealed  her  in  a  wood,  under  the  custody  of  a  giant.  What 
happened  after  this  disastrous  event,  forms  the  subject  of  these  verses.  For 
those  who  have  never  investigated  the  idle  but  somewhat  curious  system  of 
mythical  belief,  adopted  by  the  northern  nations  of  Europe  prior  to  the  intro- 
duction of  Christianity,  it  may  be  well  to  state  a  few  of  its  leading  and  most 
prominent  peculiarities.  Braga  was  the  god  of  poetry,  eloquence,  and  wis- 
dom; he  corresponds  with  the  Apollo  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  The  Rain- 
bow (Bifrost)  was  the  bridge,  communicating  from  heaven  to  earth.  Its  ex- 
tremities were  watched  over  by  Hiemdaller,  a  god  who  slept  lighter  than  the 
birds,  and  whose  sense  of  hearing  was  so  acute,  that  he  could  perceive  the 
sound  made  by  the  growing  of  grass  in  the  fields,  and  wool  on  the  backs  of 
sheep;  he  held  in  one  hand  a  sword,  and  in  the  other  a  trumpet,  the  noise  of 
which  was  heard  through  all  worlds.  Niord  was  the  Neptune  of  the  North. 
Thialfe  was  so  remarkable  for  his  skill  in  skating,  that  he  is  reported  to  have 
outstripped  the  ghost  of  a  giant.  Upon  the  whole,  it  may  be  remarked  that 
this  mythology,  along  with  much  that  is  ridiculous  and  extravagant,  contains 
many  things  both  highly  philosophical  and  strikingly  poetical. 

/ 

I. 

Long  years  had  passed  since  Lok  had  stolen  away 

The  fruit  which  could  the  bloom  of  youth  recall; 
The  gods  and  heroes  all  were  growing  gray; 

Loud  lamentations  rilled  Valhalla's  hall; 

And  though  the  shields,  high  hanging  from  the  wall, 
Still  from  their  burnished  orbs  shed  dazzling  light, 

Yet  now  no  more  to  herald's  joyous  call 
Upsprang  mailed  warriors  clad  in  armor  bright, 
To  spur  the  bounding  steed,  or  rush  to  frantic  fight. 


Minor  Poems.  1 1 

ii. 
Year  after  year  they  all  grew  more  aghast, 

For  still  the  rosy  apples  were  not  found, 
When  Braga,  god  of  poesy,  at  last 

Struck  from  his  rusty  harp  a  feeble  sound, 

And  tottered  forth  upon  the  mission  bound, 
Swearing  to  find  them,  or  return  no  more. 

And  now  the  gods  are  all  assembled  round, 
Yet,  oh!  how  different  from  the  days  of  yore; 
In  gloomy  groups  they  stand,  and  eye  the  golden  door. 

III. 

They  form,  I  trow,  a  melancholy  scene ! 

One  stays  his  tottering  members  with  a  staff, 
And  where  the  smile  of  triumph  once  had  been. 

Now  dwells  fatuity  with  idiot  laugh; 

Another  grasps  the  bowl,  and  strives  to  quaff 
Forgetfulness  of  age  and  racking  pain; 

But,  lo!  it  tumbles  from  his  hand,  ere  half 
The  waves  of  liquid  poison  he  can  drain, 
And  on  the  flooded  floor  the  dotard  drops  amain. 

IV. 

No  more  does  Thor  against  the  giants  march, 

Inglorious  rests  his  mallet  by  his  side; 
No  more  along  the  rainbow's  watery  arch 

On  prancing  steed  can  haut  Hiemdaller  ride, 

Or  blow  his  trump  erst  echoing  far  and  wide; 
Niord's  dominion  o'er  the  waves  is  quelled, 

He  now  no  more  can  govern  ocean's  tide; 
E'en  Odin's  potent  fingers,  which  upheld 
The  scepter  of  the  gods,  now  shake  with  palsied  eld. 


1 2  Minor  Poems. 

v. 
Thialfe  against  a  fluted  column  stands, 

And  idly  of  his  former  triumph  prates, 
And  often  sighs,  and  often  wrings  his  hands, 

And  often  gazes  on  his  rusty  skates; 

Aye,  as  Iduna's  advent  he  awaits, 
He  calls  to  mind  the  days  of  youth,  when  he 

On  circling  steel,  through  morning's  rosy  gates, 
Before  careering  winds  did  often  flee, 
Swifter  than  lightning's  flash,  across  the  frozen  sea. 

VI. 

Oh!  who  can  tell  how  sad  and  slow  the  time 

Rolls  o'er  those  blasted  forms  assembled  there! 
What  now  can  Verse,  what  now  can  Runic  rhyme, 

To  ease  their  pain,  or  soothe  their  deep  despair! 

With  squalid  beard,  sunk  jaw,  and  unkempt  hair, 
One,  like  a  maniac,  stares  with  vacant  eye; 

Another  beats  with  shrunken  arm  the  air, 
Or  vainly  wishes  for  the  power  to  die, 
Or  tunes  with  piping  voice  a  feeble  battle-cry. 

VII. 

The  most,  in  sullen  torpor  crouching,  stirred 

Nor  hand  nor  foot,  o'erspread  with  pallid  hue, 
When  lo!  the  sound  of  distant  harp  was  heard, 

Which  ever  louder,  clearer,  merrier  grew, 
And  they  beheld — oh !  glorious  sight  in  sooth — 

Fair  Braga  and  Iduna.     Swift  she  threw 
The  apples  on  the  floor — with  greedy  tooth 
They  seize — eat — clash  their  shields — O  God,  the  joys  of 
Youth! 


Minor  Poems.  13 

VIII. 

Instant  through  all  the  hall  are  seen  to  wax 
A  thousand  glorious  forms;  echoes  the  hymn 

Of  triumph—lance,  spear,  falchion,  battle-ax, 
Flash  lightning-like — heroic  eyes,  erst  dim, 
Resume  their  ancient  luster — to  the  brim 

They  fill  the  bowl,  whence  maddening  joy  is  quaft — 
Upsprings  the  dance — in  mazy  cirques  they  swim 

Around  each  column  tall  and  fluted  shaft, 
Swift  as  revolving  leaves,  which  rushing  whirlwinds  waft. 

IX. 

And  when  the  first  mad  burst  of  joy  began 

A  somewhat  milder  aspect  to  assume, 
A  band  of  female  figures,  warped  and  wan, 

Who  heretofore  had  lain  in  torpid  gloom, 

Inanimate  as  corpses  in  a  tomb, 
Now  round  Iduna  kneel  in  pallid  ring. 

Anon,  they  taste  the  immortal  fruit — fresh  bloom 
Spreads  o'er  their   cheeks — like  new-fledged  birds  in 

spring, 
All  rosy  red  they  mount,  and  soar  on  buoyant  wing. 

x. 

At  last,  to  crown  the  glorious  festival, 

And  to  express  their  gratitude,  they  say, 
That  all  that  night  in  high  Valhalla's  hall, 

To  sound  of  lutes,  they  sang  a  spousal  lay; 

And  that  Iduna,  crowned  with  flowers  of  May, 
With  bright-eyed  Braga  was  content  to  wed  ; 

And  that,  the  while  her  apples  round  her  lay, 
And  poppied  pillows  propped  her  fragrant  head, 
Sweet  bridal  songs  from  far,  re-echoed  round  her  bed. 


14  Minor  Poems. 


BLOWING  SOAP-BUBBLES. 

An  old  man  stood  amid  a  merry  group 
Of  children,  armed  with  pipes  of  clay; 
He  had  his  bloom  as  well  as  they; 
Musing,  he  gazed  upon  their  joyous  play, 
And  thus,  in  frolic  rhymes,  his  buoyant  thoughts  found  way; 
"Keep  them  dancing  high  and  low; 
Dying  dolphins  glisten  so. 
Make  bright  rainbows  come  and  go! 
Purse  your  rosy  lips  and  blow; 
Blow  your  bubbles,  children,  blow!" 

Sometimes  he  gazes  on  an  orbed  film, 
Which  brightens  as  it  grows  more  thin; 
More  gay  than  carp  with  golden  fin, 
With  pictured  trees  and  skies — without — within — 
Which  mounts — and  floats — and  bursts  upon  some  dim- 
pled chin. 

Your  locks  are  glossed  with  morning's  glow ; 
Whiter  are  mine  than  printless  snow. 
Your  limbs  have  many  a  year  to  grow, 
Mine  soon  must  pay  the  debt  they  owe; 
Then  blow  your  bubbles,  children,  blow." 

On  each  thin  globe  he  views  a  double  picture, 
One  in  the  globe  and  one  upon ; 
One  stands  erect,  inverted  one; 
A  double  rack  of  clouds,  a  double  sun, 
Whilst  o'er  those  doubled  forms  prismatic  lusters  run. 
"  On  boundless  space  your  bubbles  throw, 
No  matter  where  they're  wafted  to; 
No  seed  is  lost  which  true  hands  sow, 
Full  harvest  comes,  however  slow; 


Minor  Poems.  I  5 

The  veriest  downballs  children  blow, 
May  kill  some  error,  wisdom's  foe; 
May  kill  Conceit  and  lay  him  low; 
Then  purse  your  lips,  and  stand  tiptoe — 
Now  they  are  sinking — blow,  boys,  blow." 

And,  as  when  Newton  saw  the  apple  fall, 
When  Franklin  sailed  the  cloudward  kite, 
Vast  realms  of  knowledge  gleamed  to  sight; 
Thus  did  that  old  man,  with  supreme  delight, 
Behold  large  tracts  of  truth  flash  suddenly  from  night. 
"  Deep-channeled  thought  can  ne'er  o'erflow; 
Its  waves  are  dashing  to  and  fro; 
It  knows  no  ebb,  but  only  flow; 
Unnumbered  truths  are  yet  to  know; 
Then  blow  your  bubbles,  children,  blow." 


A   BUTTERFLY'S    EGG. 

A  seed!     An  egg!     Who  that  has  mused  on  these, 
Has  not,  still  musing,  held  his  soul  more  dear, 
And  sworn  himself  immortal!     A  small  sphere! 

A  small,  round  world  of  untold  mysteries! 
An  acorn-cup  ?     It  holds  huge  forest  trees. 
A  bird's  egg?     Eagle's  wings  are  folded  here, 

And  melodies  unheard  by  mortal  ear, 

And  plumes  unruffled  by  an  earthly  breeze. 
What  words  of  wonder  in  a  painted  shell ! 
And  yet,  more  wonderful  to  reason's  eye 

Are  those  fine,  inconspicuous  dots,  which  tell 
That  in  their  microscopic  globules  lie 
Fold  within  fold  encycled,  by  strange  spell, 
Whole  orbs  of  embryo  life,  types  of  man's  destiny. 


1 6  Minor  Poems. 


FEEDING-TIME  IN   WINTER   IN   THE    EAST. 
A  FARMER'S  LAY. 

Fierce  wintry  winds  but  little  heeding, 
The  farmer  trudges  off  to  feeding. 

From  the  barn-door  in  the  second  story, 
He  views  a  scene  of  purple  glory. 

All  day  the  clouds  looked  cold  and  leaden, 
But  now  along  the  sky  they  redden. 

Across  their  colors  bright  and  listed 

He  sees  black  trees  all  gnarled  and  twisted. 

He  hears  below  him  cattle  lowing, 

And  marks  how  well  his  colts  are  growing. 

Home  trots  his  mare;  the  smith  has  shod  her. 
His  farm-boys  toss  about  the  fodder. 

His  grooms  rub  down  the  horses'  haunches; 
The  cock  and  hens  creep  up  the  branches. 

Ere  stars  their  radiance  shall  be  shedding, 
Each  beast  shall  have  good  food  and  bedding. 

Nor  does  the  farmer  leave  the  stable 
Till  candles  light  his  supper-table. 

Thence  to  his  home  so  snug  and  cozy, 
To  greet  his  wife  and  children  rosy. 


Minor  Poems.  17 


TWO  SONNETS. 

ADDRESSED    TO     PROFESSOR    J.    W.    REESE,    ON   PRESENTING   HIM   A 
STONE   CONTAINING   CURIOUS   IMPRESSIONS. 


In  order  fully  to  understand  the  two  following  sonnets,  as  well  as  the  ob- 
jects to  which  they  relate,  it  may  be  necessary  to  inform  the  reader  that  the 
metallic  impressions  referred  to  (by  some  called  "  arborisms,"  by  others  "  den- 
drites"),  were  found  deep  inside  the  limestone  rock  (itself  originally  far  under 
water-level).  The  rock  itself  was  first  opened  by  gunpowder,  and  then  sub- 
divided by  powerful  sledge-hammers.  The  seams  or  close  fissures  containing 
the  pictures  were  so  tight  as  actually  to  be  in  juxtaposition,  as  if  glued  to- 
gether; hence,  of  each  picture  there  was  a  duplicate,  so  wonderful  are  Nature's 
doings  in  the  dark. 

I  wish  I  could  present  you  something,  Reese, 
More  worthy  your  acceptance — something  more 
Brilliant  and  rich — some  tablet  pictured  o'er 

With  mimic  ruins,  such  as  never  cease 

To  pique  the  fancy,  and  with  new  increase 

Of  thought,  to  add  to  memory's  garnered  store — 
Some  marble  marked  with  shell  or  madrepore, 

Or  rare  moss-agate  flecked  with  shrubs  and  trees. 

In  place  of  this,  lo !  pictures  on  the  hard 
Coarse  limestone,  disim prisoned,  freed, 
Like  flowers  from  winter's  thrall  upblossoming ! 

Yet  even  these  are  curious.     Avon's  bard 

Would  have  admired  them;  for  he  loved  to  read 
"  Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything." 

Deep  underground,  where  not  the  faintest  gleam 
Of  starlight  or  of  sunshine  ever  stole, 
Deeper  than  haunt  of  subterranean  mole, 

Those  mystic  forms  were  gendered.     Like  a  dream 

They  sprang  to  being.     'Twixt  the  close-knit  seam 
Of  the  thin-fissured  limestone,  perfect,  whole, 
Stem,  branchlet,  twiglet,  flow'ret,  foliole, 

3 


1 8  Minor  Poems. 

In  darkness  they  upstarted.     It  might  seem 
As  though  a  subtle  fairy  of  the  mine 

Deep-versed  in  magic  arts  and  elfin  lore, 
(The  whilst  she  made  full  many  a  mystic  sign), 

Had  melted  into  drops  some  choicest  ore, 
And  interposed  the  rocks  with  pictures  fine 
Of  ouphant  plants  and  forests  crystalline. 


THE   DRAINING  :   A   FARMER'S   LAY. 

With  loathsome  weeds  and  coarse-stemmed  grasses  harsh, 

On  one  end  of  a  field  a  plashy  marsh 

Too  long  had  pained  the  careful  farmer's  eye. 

Digging  a  ditch,  he  drained  the  wet  land  dry, 

And  soon  in  place  of  mud  and  gelid  ooze, 

Came  tasseled  maize,  and  grain  of  golden  hues, 

And  fuller  barns,  and  merrier  harvest-home. 

Soon  dripping  water  flags,  and  miry  foam, 

Vanished  before  the  plowshare.     Covered  drains, 

Built  strong  enough  to  bear  huge  six-horse  wains, 

Gave  ample  space  for  salient  springs  to  bound, 

Springs  which  had  choked  and  sobbed  beneath  the  ground 

Unknown  e'en  to  the  woodcock's  probing  bill. 

Arid  soon  each  trickling,  tributary  rill, 

Uniting  in  one  channel,  fresh  and  cool, 

Came  from  the  earth,  a  heaven-reflecting  pool, 

Where  dreamy  cattle,  standing  round  the  brink 

In  sultry  summer  days,  were  seen  to  drink. 

Beholding  this,  the  farmer  oft  would  smile, 

And  praise  the  ditcher  from  the  Emerald  Isle. 


Minor  Poems.  19 


STRANGE  SOUNDS  HEARD   AROUND  THE  WORLD. 

Come,  reader,  let  us  wander  round  the  world, 
And  list  sweet  Nature's  music  here  and  there; 
'Twill  teach  us  to  believe  in  Memnon.     First, 
Pass  we  a  night  by  Manitoba  Lake 
Among  the  Ojibway  Indians.     From  the  shore 
We  can  descry  beneath  the  moon  an  islet, 
From  which,  whene'er  a  gentle  north  wind  blows, 
Sweet  mystic  sounds  are  wafted  o'er  the  wave, 
Rising  or  sinking  as  the  breezes  breathe, 
Or  die  away  like  distant  convent  bells 
At  times,  at  times  like  solemn  midnight  chants 
Of  nuns  at  Trinita  del  Monti;  wild 
And  weird  the  unearthly  music  floats 
Across  the  waters,  like  a  strain  from  spirit  land. 

The  cause  is  as  poetic  as  the  sound: 
Along  the  islet's  beach  lie  hollow  shreds 
Of  limestone,  tumbled  from  the  cliff  above; 
These,  beat  upon  by  pebbles  small  and  round 
Rolled  shoreward  by  the  billows,  fill  the  air 
With  melody,  as  though  the  Master  of  Life 
Were  hovering  pleased  around  his  favorite  haunt, 
His  moccasins  o'erhung  with  musical  shells, 
To  dance  a  mystic  dance  beneath  the  stars, 
And  hold  creation  spellbound.* 

*  Manitoba  Lake,  which  has  given  name  to  the  province  formed  out  of  the 
Red  River  region,  is  called  after  a  small  island,  whence,  in  the  stillness  of  th« 
night,  issue  strangely  sweet,  mysterious  sounds.  The  Ojibway  Indians  who 
dwell  in  that  neighborhood  believe  the  island  to  be  the  home  of  Manitoba,  the 
Speaking  God,  and  will  not  land  on  or  approach  it  for  any  consideration, 
thinking  they  would  desecrate  or  profane  it,  and  that  they  would  meet  with 
some  terrible  fate  for  their  impiety.  The  sound  is  caused,  it  has  been  ascer- 
tained, by  the  beating  of  the  waves  on  the  large  pebbles  along  the  shore. 


2O  Minor  Poems. 

Now  southward  turning,  wing  we  our  swift  flight 
O'er  Mexico's  deep  gulf,  and  o'er  the  isles 
Of  India  of  the  West,  and  posting  on 
Thought-rapid  to  the  equinoctial  line, 
We  reach  the  Orelana,  mighty  stream, 
And,  wondering,  look  around  us.     Red  men  there 
Point  to  far  Paruguaxo's  mountain  peaks, 
And  tell  of  mystic  sounds  that  there  are  heard 
What  time  the  mountain  labors — birth-pangs  these, 
With  clang  and  flash  and  uproar  through  the  glens, 
Birth-labor,  followed,  as  they  fondly  hope, 
By  boundless  treasure  thrown  up  from  the  earth, 
Diamonds,  and  precious  stones,  and  priceless  wealth. 
Hence,  to  the  genii  of  those  wonder-lands, 
And  to  the  thunder  spirits  of  the  hills, 
They  hang  rich  offerings  on  the  bowing  trees, 
Or  pile  them  on  the  cliffs.     In  vain,  in  vain; 
Their  El  Dorado  proves  an  empty  dream.* 

Next  let  us  visit  Madagascar's  isle 
And  listen  to  the  so-called  Devil's  Voice, 
Which  oft  bursts  forth  in  still  midsummer  nights, 
Now  from  afar,  now  near,  but  suddenly, 
And  startling  beyond  all  power  of  words 
To  tell  its  awful  influence  on  the  soul. 

These,  with  fragments  of  fine-grained,  compact  limestone  that  have  fallen  from 
the  cliffs  above,  are  rubbed  together  by  the  action  of  the  water,  and  give  out  a 
tone  like  that  of  distant  church  bells.  The  natural  music  is  heard  when  the 
wind  blows  from  the  north,  and,  as  it  subsides,  low,  plaintive  notes,  resembling 
voices  of  an  invisible  choir,  are  heard.  It  has  been  compared  to  the  chant  of 
the  nuns  at  the  Trinita  del  Monti  in  Rome,  with  which  all  travelers  are  familiar. 
The  effect  is  impressive.  Tourists  have  been  awakened  at  night  in  the  vicinity 
under  the  impression  that  chimes  of  bells  were  ringing  afar  off,  and  that  their 
tones  were  rippling  over  the  lake.  The  mystic  bells  of  Manitoba  have  ac- 
quired such  reputation  that  travelers  are  never  satisfied  unless  they  are  heard, 
and  often  spend  days  there  waiting  for  the  blowing  of  the  north  wind.  The 
Ojibways  have  a  number  of  poetic  legends  about  their  Speaking  God,  whom 
they  profoundly  revere. — New  York  Times. 
*  See  Humboldt's  Travels  in  South  America. 


Minor  Poems.  21 

A  creeping  terror  seizes  every  heart, 

A  terror  mixed  with  melancholy — grief 

Unutterable  masters  all  the  being, 

And  terrible  forebodings.     Seems  as  though 

A  planetary  spirit,  once  a  man, 

Were  giving  vent  to  anguish  of  the  damned, 

Sometimes  in  slow,  sad  measures,  sometimes  swift 

(Then  most  terrific,  when  most  rapid-sounding), 

And  petrifying  all  the  heart  with  awe.* 

Next  let  us  fly,  in  thought,  to  Barrey's  Isle,t 
At  the  deep  Severn's  mouth,  and  pausing  there, 
Apply  the  ear  to  the  cliff  at  a  certain  point, 
And,  hist!  what  noises:  bellows  blowing  loud, 
Hammers  on  anvils  ringing  all  night  long, 
As  though  swart  gnomes  and  sooty  elves  were  there, 
And  long-armed  dwarfs  expert  in  handicraft, 
And  all  the  clamor  of  a  blacksmith's  forge, 
Making  him  mad  that  listens. 

Quick,  away! 

And  winging  back  our  course  o'er  ocean's  wave 
And  o'er  the  Mississippi  valley,  westward  still, 
Reach  we  the  Rocky  Mountains.     There,  'tis  said, 
At  certain  places,  both  by  day  and  night, 
Artillery-firing,  or  what  seems  to  be  such, 
Rolls  booming  o'er  the  plains.     Most  strange  indeed! 
Such,  awe-struck,  heard  the  first  exploring  band 
By  Lewis  and  by  Clarke  led  overland; 
On  Declaration  Day  they  heard  the  sound, 

*For  some  account  of  this  curious  phenomenon,  see  Shubert's  Nachtseite  der 
Naturgeschischte. 

1  At  Barrey,  an  isle  of  the  Severn's  mouth,  they  seem  to  hear  a  smith's  forge, 
blowing  of  bellows  and  knocking  of  hammers,  if  they  apply  the  ear  to  the 
cliff. — Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy. 


22  Minor  Poems. 

And  paused  in  silent  wonder;  seemed  as  though 
The  eternal  mountains  strove  with  one  accord 
To  celebrate  our  freedom,  peal  on  peal 
With  deep  reverberations  echoing  far.* 


SONNET. 

At  the  dead  of  night,  when  universal  silence  reigned  "throughout  the  city,  a 
silence  deepened  by  the  awful  thought  of  the  ensuing  day,  on  a  sudden  was 
heard  the  sound  of  musical  instruments,  and  a  noise  which  resembled  the  excla- 
mations of  Bacchanals.  This  tumultuous  procession  seemed  to  pass  through 
the  whole  city,  and  to  go  out  at  the  gate  which  led  to  the  enemy's  camp.  Such 
as  reflected  upon  this  prodigy,  concluded  that  Bacchus,  the  god  whom  Antony 
affected  to  imitate,  had  then  forsaken  him. — Plutarch's  Life  of  Antony,  p.  125. 

Loud  pealed  the  banquet;  rosy  Almas  sprang 

Across  the  painted  floor  on  bounding  feet; 

Pages  ran  to  and  fro;  in  accents  sweet, 
To  sound  of  harps,  Egyptian  minstrels  sang; 
High  up  the  ceiling  laughter  echoing  rang, 

And  naught  seemed  wanting  to  their  joy  complete. 

So  crept  on  midnight.     Then,  along  the  street 
Was  heard  from  far  the  dread  and  mystic  clang 

Of  cymbals  shrill  and  shout  of  Bacchant  boys. 
Oh !  how  the  guests  turned  pale,  and  strove  to  gaze 

Upon  those  phantoms,  whilst  with  madd'ning  noise 
And  pipings  loud  they  swept  from  gate  to  gate ! 

And  thus  it  happens  oft;  our  very  joys 
To  unseen  Sibyls  turn,  prophetic  of  fell  fate. 

*  An  account  of  this  curious  phenomenon  may  be  seen  in  the  expedition  of 
Lewis  and  Clarke,  made  during  the  administration  of  Jefferson.  It  adds  one 
more  to  the  number  of  coincidences  relating  to  the  Fourth  of  July,  which,  all 
taken  together,  are  too  striking  and  numerous  ever  to  be  considered  the  result 
of  blind  chance.  Want  of  time  and  space  prevents  me  from  givii.g  an  enumer- 
ation of  them,  but  it  might  repay  the  reader  to  search  them  out  for  himself. 


Minor  Poems.  23 


LITTLE  STAR-FLOWER'S  SHORT  LIFE  AND  HAPPY 
DEATH. 

ON   FINDING    A  FLOWER  OF    THE   ASTER   FAMILY  GROWING    ON   THE 
TRACK  OF   A   RAILROAD. 

Where  the  railway's  track  runs  deeper 

Through  a  narrow,  rock-bound  glen, 
Where  tall  cliffs  rise  steep  and  steeper, 
Peeped  from  'neath  a  wooden  sleeper, 

Star-flower,  with  her  raylets  ten. 
Not  with  sheen  of  gold  or  scarlet 

Flashing  on  the  wanderer's  sight, 

But  with  unprismatic  light 
Beamed  the  tiny  ten-rayed  starlet, 

Masking  rainbow  hues  in  white. 

Sheathing  thus  the  colors  seven 

Of  God's  Peace-bow  all  in  one, 
Tranquil  days  to  her  seemed  given, 
Gazing  blissful  up  to  heaven 

On  God's  home — the  Central  Sun: 
And  though  loads  of  men  and  lumber 

O'er  her  swept  on  thundering  cars, 
Wide  awake,  she  seemed  to  slumber 
With  her  rays  of  mystic  number 

Beaming  back,  the  Star  of  Stars! 

He  who,  thoughtful,  might  observe  her 

Ere  her  blossom  'gan  to  ope, 

Ere  she  gazed  on  heaven's  cope, 
Would  have  seen  one  color  serve  her, 

One — the  hue  of  youthful  Hope. 


24  Minor  Poems. 

Green  her  flower-cup,  green :  five-parted  ? 

Five  P  a  type  for  her  unmeet; 

Green  j>  her  being's  springtide  sweet, 
Till,  in  few  more  hours,  outstarted 

Full-orbed  whiteness,  pure,  complete. 

Worlds  above  her,  Earth  below  her, 

Drinking  sunlight,  quaffing  dew, 
Death  came  sudden  to  o'erthrow  her:  * 
View  her,  Poet,  you  may  know  her; 

Dead,  she  yet  may  speak  to  you; 
Telling,  how  beneath  the  rushing 

Wheels  of  labor,  oft  are  found 
Human  flow'rets,  sweetly  blushing, 
Star-allied,  and  kept  from  crushing 

By  their  nearness  to  the  ground. 


BURNING  BRUSH:  A  FARMER'S  LAY. 

Year  after  year  yon  barren  hill, 

Haunt  of  the  plaintive  whip-poor-will, 

Unfit  for  pasture  and  for  plow, 

Has  reared  aloft  its  sterile  brow, 

Each  springtide  with  wild  violets  blooming, 

Each  rosy  summer  eve  vocal  with  Night-hawk's  booming. 

But,  lo!  to-night, 

Most  cheering  sight ! 
My  children  from  my  porch  in  wonder  gazing, 

See  light  on  light, 

Each  one  more  bright, 
Along  the  barren  hilltop  upward  blazing. 

*  Be  it  known  to  all  who  take  an  interest  in  such  weighty  matters,  that  the 
death  of  the  sweet  floweret  was  occasioned  by  the  writer's  plucking  it  up  by 
the  roots,  to  send  by  mail  to  Mr.  Longfellow  in  company  with  the  above  poem. 


Minor  Poems.  25 

Along  the  sedge  and  sallow  grass, 
Now  looming  large,  now  almost  hid 
Behind  some  quivering  pyramid, 
I  see  tall  forms  pass  and  repass, 
Tossing  on  heaps  of  sassafras 

Old  gnarled  roots  and  thorny  briars, 

To  feed  the  fires, 

And  build  the  pyres, 
The  funeral  pyres  of  yellow  Barrenness; 
And  as  each  lofty  pile  outflashes 
It  leaves  behind  most  fertilizing  ashes. 

All  this  the  farmer  views  with  pleased  emotion. 
But  mark !  how  ever  higher — higher — 
All  alone 
One  fiery  cone 

Shoots  spirally  aloft  with  corkscrew  motion, 
Madly  whirling, 
Fiercely  twirling 

Amidst  frantic 
Blasts  and  currents  round  it  eddying, 

Ever  more  and  more  gigantic, 
Till,  having  reached  its  stature  full, 
Its  own  red  column  firmly  steadying, 

It  stands  for  a  moment  immovable. 
Oh,  how  its  bowing  brothers  court  it! 
And  as  some  mighty  Mind, 
Rising  above  its  kind, 
Itself  creates  the  circling  gust 
Which  lifts  it  towering  from  the  dust, 
So  does  that  fiery  shaft, 
As  if  with  sense  of  power  it  madly  laughed, 
Itself  create  the  stormy  currents  that  support  it. 


26  Minor  Poems. 


THE   INVALID'S   MORNING    WATCH    IN   WINTER, 

Lo !  shadowy  forms  gigantic, 

As  the  flames  ascend  or  fall, 
Dance  many  a  long-legged  antic 

O'er  ceiling  and  o'er  wall. 

Far  distant  ghosts  seem  sailing, 

Faint  death-bells  strike  the  ear; 
'Tis  but  the  damp  logs  wailing 

On  erring  fancy's  ear. 

Like  coals  half  quenched  in  ashes 

The  panes  loom  leaden-gray,  • 
And  slow  the  penciled  sashes 

Their  checker-work  display. 

On  narrower  inspection, 

A  tree's  faint-shadowed  trunk 
Looms  through  the  window's  section, 

Almost  to  dimness  sunk. 

Thus  slowly,  slowly  rocking 

In  my  old  ancestral  chair, 
Thought  after  thought  comes  flocking 

Till  twilight  paints  the  air. 

And  when  young  Dawn  comes  launching 

Her  crimson  boats  of  cloud, 
Yon  tree,  before  unbranching, 

And  draped  in  sable  shroud, 


Minor  Poems.  27 


Towers  high  in  glory,  sainted 

By  halos  bright  of  rays; 
Trunk,  bough,  and  twig  all  painted 

On  a  ground  of  golden  haze. 

So,  when  the  sky  above  us 

Gleams  bright'ning  in  its  track, 

The  angels  seem  to  love  us 
And  drive  ill  demons  back. 


THE  LOVER'S  WHISPERING  GALLERY  UNDER  THE  SEA. 

I've  heard  of  galleries,  galleries  submarine, 

Which  lovers  secretly,  sweetly  may  whisper  in, 

Where  winged  syllables  fleetly  are  wafted  through, 

Swift  as  the  lightning's  flash  cleaves  a  black  cloud  in  two. 

Come,  my  beloved  one !  speak  to  me,  speak  to  me ! 

How  my  heart  throbs  to  thee  through  the  vast  hungry  sea! 

Where  huge  leviathans  sport,  far,  far  from  either  shore, 
We  may  hold  converse  sweet  over  old  Ocean's  floor; 
Over  drowned  argosies,  o'er  sunken  treasure  ships; 
Speak  to  me,  speak  to  me,  with  thy  fresh  rosy  lips! 

Deep  under  mountain  waves,  deep  under  tossing  brines, 
Far  'neath  the  touch  of  the  sailor's  deep  sounding  line, 
Far  as  salt  billows  boom,  far  as  tides  ebb  and  flow, 
Loving  thoughts  wander  now,  aye,  flashing  to  and  fro. 
Then,  though  between  us,  love,  storm-beaten  ocean  roll, 
Speak  to  me — stream  to  me — flash  through  my  inmost  soul ! 


28  Minor  Poems. 


SONNET. 

OF  MEN   AND   PLANETS,   EACH    SEEMS   SUBJECT   TO   A   TWOFOLD 
REVOLUTION. 

As  earth  sustains  a  twofold  motion — one 

Urging  it  ever  round  its  own  fixed  pole, 
The  other  causing  it  for  aye  to  roll 
Around  the  central,  all-supporting  sun, 
Whence  day  and  night  in  due  succession  run 
Their  rounds,  with  change  of  seasons;  thus  the  soul 
Of  man,  by  laws  beyond  her  own  control 
Is  by  a  twofold  impulse  driven  on. 
A  self-encircling,  God-attracted  sphere 

She  is,  with  one  side  dark  and  one  side  bright, 
Sin's  shadow  there,  celestial  radiance  here, 

Here  summer  morn,  there  starless,  wintry  night. 
But,  O !  what  joy,  when  near  and  still  more  near 
Attracted,  she  shall  be  absorbed  in  God's  own  light. 


THE  MYSTIC  MIRROR. 

In  a  chamber  hushed  and  dark 
Hangs  a  mirror  now  for  show; 

Lovely  lady,  come  and  gaze ! 

Long  before  the  solar  rays 

Glisten  round  the  soaring  lark, 
O'er  its  surface,  to  and  fro 
Thronging  figures  come  and  go; 

Self-illumed  they  appear, 

Some  afar,  and  some  anear, 
Some  in  never-ending  row 

Reaching  backward  to  the  sea. 

Come,  fair  lady,  gaze  with  me ! 


Minor  Poems.  29 

On  its  surface  hyaline 

I  can  see  a  vision  now 

Clearly  pictured — so  canst  thou. 
I  see  mourners  round  a  grave 
O'er  which  weeping  willows  wave; 
And  a  coffin  black  as  night 

Sinking  lower,  lower  down; 
Now  it  disappears  from  sight 

Mournfully,  beneath  the  moon. 

Weep,  fair  lady,  for  full  soon 
Clods  shall  tumble  on  the  lid, 

And  young  eyes,  erst  starry  bright, 

Shall  be  covered  from  the  light; 
And  those  beauties  shall  be  hid, 

Which  we  all  did  idolize. 

Lay  her  low;  for  she  shall  rise 

At  the  Resurrection  Day. 
Dead-asleep  the  body  lies; 
Lark-like,  the  soul  ascends  the  skies; 

Weep  no  more,  lady  fair,  I  pray; 

Come  away,  come  away. 


SOMETHING  ALMOST  TOO  SILLY  FOR  VERSE. 

One  sunny  morn,  in  early  May, 
I  wandered  far  in  the  woods  astray, 
And  beheld  two  beautiful  birds  at  play. 

Like  glittering  shuttles  of  golden  hue 
They  shot  the  blossomed  branches  through, 
And  fluttering,  disappeared  from  view. 

When  next  I  passed,  my  eyes  were  blessed 

With  the  sight  of  a  winged  one  on  her  warm  nest. 

But  how  many  eggs  she  had — she  knew  best. 


30  Minor  Poems. 


THE  TWO  SISTERS. 

Although  the  Morning  and  the  Evening  Star, 
When  first  they  strike  upon  the  gazer's  sight, 
Seem  equal  in  intensity  and  light, 

Yet  do  they  call  forth  thoughts  dissimilar. 

The  one,  soft-throbbing  in  the  west  afar, 
Suits  best  the  mood  of  pensive  Eremite; 
The  other,  is  the  hunter's  dear  delight; 

Thus,  to  my  eyes,  those  lovely  Sisters  are. 

One,  like  a  pious  nun,  whose  beads  are  told, 

Seems  wrapt  in  high  communion  with  the  skies, 
With  folded  palms,  and  upward-gazing  glance; 

The  other,  has  sheen  glossy  curls  of  gold, 
Sweet  laughing  lips,  and  still  more  laughing  eyes, 
And  dimples  gay,  and  feet  that  love  the  dance. 


EASTER  EGGS. 

As  yet  no  swallows  give  each  other  chase, 
No  oriole  yet  her  airy  hammock  weaves, 

The  flower  with  blood-red  juice  and  pallid  face* 
Still  sleeps  beneath  dead  leaves. 

But  silvery  clouds,  afloat  in  freshest  blue, 
Cast  flying  shadows  o'er  the  greening  hills, 

The  scarlet  maple  flowering  bursts  to  view, 
And  yellow  daffodils. 

New  flowers,  new  birds,  new  heavens,  a  fresh  new  earth ! 
Celestial  Taptures  and  the  joy  of  joys ! 

*  The  Sanguinaria. 


Minor  Poems.  31 

God's  Easter  comes  to  glad  with  holy  mirth 

Old  men  and  laughing  boys. 
Bright  eggs!  Behold  them  by  each  path,  each  street, 

The  gay,  the  million-pictured,  rainbow-hued ! 
O'er  all  the  land  young  fingers,  rosy-sweet, 

Uplift  the  heavenly  food. 
Come  and  partake !     Within  those  painted  shells 

Is  found  the  core  of  many  precious  things — 
Bird-music  sweeter  than  the  sweetest  bells, 

And  embryo  angel-wings. 
Partake  in  faith !     And  from  the  sacred  feast 
Shall  rise  within  thee  a  new  morning  star, 
More  bright  than  that  which  guided  in  the  East 
The  wise  men  from  afar. 


TO    A    NIGHT-HAWK. 

Whilst  amidst  branches  fresh  and  leaves  high  hung 
The  oriole  swings  her  hammock,  thou  art  found, 
Hoarse  Night-Hawk,  on  the  bare  and  barren  ground, 

Lank-waving  sedge  and  sallow  weeds  among, 

All  day  lone-brooding.     But  when  Eve  has  flung 
Her  twilight  mantle  o'er  her,  all  around 
Yon  grave-yard  hill  with  shrill  and  booming  sound 

Madly  thou  wheelest,  whilst  thy  shapeless  young 

Lie  on  the  earth  unsheltered.     Bird  of  gloom ! 
Dark  specter  of  the  woods !     I  fain  would  know 

Whether  no  gleams  of  pleasure  e'er  illume 
Thy  shadowy  life,  or  when  thy  trump  of  woe 

Moans  on  the  hill,  or  when  on  woodland  tomb 

Folding  thy  white-barred  wings,  thou  crouchest  low. 


THE  FLIGHT  INTO  EGYPT. 


2<«  Se  9pov(a  TrvpoevTt  TrapecrTacrti'  TroXv/ao^doi 
'AyyeAoi  olat  /xe>rjAe  /Sporois  cSs  iravra.  Te'Aetrai. 

Orphic  Hymn. 

Around  God's  fiery  throne,  with  sleepless  ken, 
Angelic  watchers  guard  the  ways  of  men. 


THE  FLIGHT  INTO  EGYPT, 


BOOK   I. 

HOL  YLAN  D. 


CANTO  I. 

THE   FLIGHT   COMMENCES — OLD   BATTLE-FIELD   SEEN   BY   A   NEW 
LIGHT. 

t  WAKING  VISION  of  the  Flight  to  Egypt! 
To  view  heaven's  orbs  by  daylight,  men  were  wont, 
In  olden  times,  to  visit  some  deep  well, 
Or  the  dusk  crypt  of  some  vast  pyramid, 
Whence,  looking  up,  they  could,  through  one  small  open- 
ing, 

Behold  the  stars  at  noon,  and  e'en  descry 
The  pole-star's  culmination.     Thus  may  we, 
Dim-sighted  from  the  glare  of  common  day, 
Enter  the  shadowy  Cave  of  Waking  Dreams, 
And  kneeling  reverent  on  the  marble  floor, 
Behold,  through  one  small  opening — O,  the  joy ! 
The  Star  of  stars,  the  star  that  leads  to  Christ. 


36  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

A  Waking  Vision  of  the  Flight  to  Egypt ! 
Come,  listen:  though  the  words  be  poor  and  weak, 
Weak  and  imperfect,  like  all  earthly  things, 
The  VISION,  if  heaven-born,  may  glimmer  through  them, 
As  sinking  sunlight  gleams  through  some  old  oak. 

Full  eighteen  months  had  passed  since  Christ  was  born, 
Most  of  which  time  was  spent  at  Nazareth, 
The  home  of  Mary  and  the  foster-sire. 
Then  Joseph  and  the  Mother  of  the  Child, 
As  was  their  frequent  custom,  paid  a  visit 
To  their  relations  in  the  hill-country. 
Whilst  there,  the  Angel  of  the  Lord  appeared 
To  Joseph  in  a  dream,  and  said :  "  Arise, 
Take  the  young  Child  in  haste,  and  take  the  mother, 
And,  fleeing  into  Egypt,  be  thou  there 
Until  I  bring  thee  word;  for  Herod  seeks 
To  take  the  young  Child's  life." 

Joseph  arose, 

Obedient  to  the  messenger's  command, 
And  journeyed  on  towards  Egypt. 

Night  was  coming; 

The  new  moon,  thin  and  small,  could  scarce  be  seen; 
It  seemed  a  silver  sickle,  edgewise  viewed, 
Soft  melting  in  the  sunset's  golden  glow 
Like  pearl  melting  in  wine.     All  night  the  stars, 
God's  brightest  thoughts  addressed  to  human  eyes, 
Rose  in  the  east  and  sank  below  the  west, 
In  clustered  constellations  wonderful. 
The  Northern  Cross  sloped  o'er  Judea's  hills, 
Job's  Coffin  hung  as  if  self-poised  o'erhead, 
The  Sickle  glittered  with  its  starry  curve, 
And  lovelier  still,  fair  clustering  down  the  west, 
The  silvery  Sisters  Seven,  o'er  Rachel's  tomb 
Seemed  mourning  for  their  lost  one. 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  3 

Paths  obscure 

And  unfrequented  ways  they  first  pursued, 
Lest  Herod's  all  but  bloodhounds,  all  unleashed 
And  rabid  for  the  scent  of  human  blood, 
Might  follow  on  their  footsteps.     A  long  journey, 
A  drear  a.nd  perilous  journey,  lay  before  them, 
Danger  in  front  and  dangers  in  the  rear, 
And  many  a  weary  waste  of  desert  land. 

Well  Joseph  knew  each  road  and  every  farm 
For  many  a  mile  round  Ephratah;  as  boy 
He  had  explored  them  oft  in  company 
Of  some  dear  kinsfolk  of  the  hill  country, 
Whilst  visiting  his  blood-relations  there. 

So  on  they  journeyed,  hushed,  but  fast  at  first, 
Afraid  to  whisper  much  above  their  breath, 
Threading  small,  tortuous  sheep-tracks  wild  and  rough, 
By  many  a  silent  vineyard,  many  a  grove, 
Past  olive  gardens,  grain  fields,  ancient  oaks, 
Past  mountains  caverned  into  antique  tombs, 
Past  slumbering  villages,  whose  inmates  lay 
Couched  on  the  housetops  oriental-wise, 
Soft  dreaming,  sweet  asleep  beneath  the  stars. 

At  last  they  reached  a  mount  whose  lofty  bro--v 
Was  overshadowed  by  a  branching  grove 
Of  terebinth;  which  having  passed,  behold 
Before  them  in  the  dark  what  seemed  a  vale 
With  streamlet  in  the  midst,  and  hills  beyond. 

" Behold  the  vale  of  Elah,"  Joseph  said, 
And  pointed  with  his  staff.     The  Virgin  looked, 
But  all  seemed  dim  and  shadowy  to  her  eye, 
Veiled  o'er  by  shrouding  night. 
Sudden,  an  instantaneous  pulse  of  light, 
Unlike  all  other  light  from  fire  or  sun, 
From  glowworm,  planet,  or  enchanted  lamp, 


38  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Streamed  wave  on  wave  in  undulations  strange, 
O'erflowing  the  horizon's  utmost  rim. 

It  was  indeed  that  memorable  vale 
Where,  more  than  ten  long  centuries  before, 
A  shepherd  lad,  with  staff  and  sling  and  bag, 
A  rosy  boy,  fresh  from  his  father's  flocks, 
Had  gathered  five  smooth  pebbles  from  the  brook, 
Wherewith  to  slay  the  giant. 

The  Virgin  gazed  entranced.     Her  full,  large  eyes, 
Swimming  in  liquid  rapture,  rolled  around, 
Taking  in  either  mountain  at  a  glance, 
And  all  the  windings  of  the  brook,  which  now, 
For  lack  of  rain,  was  shrunk  within  its  channel 
With  wave- worn  stones  and  pebbles  overheaped. 
Those  pebbles  had  been  swept  by  many  a  flood 
Down  from  the  neighboring  mountains  on  each  side, 
And  where  the  stream  was  fullest,  disappeared. 

But  that  strange  light!     Scarce  could  the  Virgin  tell 
Which  most  to  wonder  at,  the  mystic  light 
Itself,  or  the  weird  scene  it  shone  upon, 
Bringing  out  every  object  into  view, 
And  giving  all  a  beauty  not  its  own. 
To  her  it  seemed  as  though  the  glorious  bow 
Around  God's  throne,  the  rainbow  of  high  heaven, 
Were  melted  into  radiance  pearly  white, 
And  having  fused  its  seven  hues  into  one, 
That  one  were  streaming  on  a  snow-white  dove. 
Whose  every  wing-flap  sent  a  wave  of  brightness 
In  undulating  currents  round  the  globe. 
Nor  was  that  all.     She  heard,  or  thought  she  heard 
At  intervals,  a  fine  unearthly  chime 
Caught  only  by  the  spirit's  inner  ear, 
WThich  marvelously  seemed  to  sink  or  swell 
With  the  light's  ebb  and  flow,  and  to  embrace, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  39 

Intfull  harmonic  unity,  each  tone, 

Each  melody  conceivable  by  man, 

Into  a  sevenfold  twine  of  woven  sound, 

Which  sometimes  sevenfold  seemed,  and  sometimes  three 

As  when  in  early  spring  a  throng  of  clouds 
Sweep  hurrying  overhead,  some  silver-edged. 
Some  streaked  by  penciled  beams,  which  radiate, 
Spoke-like,  all  streaming  from  a  central  point 
(That  point  close-clouded,  center  of  the  wheel), 
Some  shaped  like  floating  turrets  set  adrift, 
And  all,  in  endless  sequence  casting  down 
A  host  of  racing  shadows  o'er  green  hills; 
Such,  and  so  masque-like,  was  the  throng  of  thoughts 
Which  drifted  o'er  the  Virgin's  fresh  young  soul. 

Joseph,  who  had  been  kneeling,  rose  and  cried 
In  solemn  utterance,  quoting  from  the  Book: 
1  'God  said,  let  there  be  light,  and  light  there  was." 
Then  long  and  deep  he  gazed  upon  her  eyes, 
As  though  all  heaven  were  mirrored  in  their  orbs, 
Heaven  behind  heaven,  in  far  perspective  view; 
He  gazed  on  her;  she  on  the  Primal  Light. 
Then  on  they  passed  o'er  that  old  battle-field 
Until  they  reached  the  brook.     There  Joseph  stooped, 
And  from  the  smooth  white  stones  reposing  there 
Gathered  an  egg-shaped  pebble,  water-worn, 
And,  save  for  its  suggestions,  little  worth. 
"  Doubtless  'twas  much  like  this,"  he,  musing,  said, 
Holding  the  smooth  stone  in  his  outstretched  palm, 
And  lapsing  into  meditative  smile, 
Half  quaint,  half  reverent,  "  much  like  this,  I  ween, 
And  picked  up,  mayhap,  from  the  self-same  spot. 
A  thing  like  this  ?     A  plaything  of  the  flood  ? 
A  bauble  for  a  boy  to  sling  at  birds  ? 
No  wonder  that  Goliah  laughed  to  scorn 


40  The  Flight  into  Egvpt. 

At  first  the  slinger  and  the  thing  he  slung. 
Yet,  in  my  inmost  heart  I  do  believe — " 
And  as  he  spoke  an  earnestness  profound 
Deepened  his  tones,  and  flushed  his  manly  cheek, 
"That  He"— he  pointed  to  the  Heavenly  Babe, 
And  bowed,  and  reverently  clasped  his  hands — 
"That  He,  the  manger-cradled,  cattle  round  Him, 
Will,  in  due  time,  confront  and  do  to  death 
An  Anakim  ten  million  times  more  dread 
Than  him  whom  David  slaughtered  with  a  sling: 
Nay,  with  a  thing  of  simple,  common  use. 
A  simple  wrord  or  two,  The  Word — no  more — 
Shall  work  such  wonders  through  all  coming  times, 
That  future  generations  without  end, 
In  ever  new  developments,  shall  grow 
And  grow  into  more  rich  and  perfect  bloom, 
Until  Humanity's  full-blossoming  flower, 
Never  full  blown,  but  always  blossoming, 
Shall  be  transplanted  into  heaven's  high  fields, 
And  mix  its  odors  with  the  flowers  above." 

So  saying,  he  tossed  the  pebble  back.     They  three 
Traversed  the  channel  of  the  shrunken  stream, 
And  as  they  journeyed  on,  might  be  compared 
To  holy  thoughts  in  penitent  human  souls 
Calm  moving  on  where  storms  have  left  their  mark. 
A  Holy  Family  journeying  through  the  night! 
Two  human;  One  both  human  and  divine; 
The  foster-father  faithful,  good  and  true, 
The  Virgin  Mother  all-immaculate, 
The  incarnate  God  in  budding  infancy, 
All  Three  mysteriously  linked  in  love, 
Love  such  as  angels  scarce  can  comprehend ! 

The  humblest  things  of  earth  oft  shadow  forth 
In  some  sweet  way  the  ineffable  things  of  heaven, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  41 

And  lowly  plants  trod  down  by  cloven  hoofs 
And  browsed  by  cattle,  show  to  pious  eyes 
The  mystic  symbols  of  a  higher  life. 
Then  pardon  me,  I  pray,  if  I  compare 
That  Holy  Family,  that  trinal  group, 
To  something  noticed  in  our  daily  walks. 
Wander  some  summer  morn  adown  the  meads 
Or  o'er  the  pastured  hills,  before  the  dew 
Has  by  the  sun  been  quaffed;  you  chance  may  spy 
A  three-leaved  clover,  with  a  delicate  ring 
Or  mystic  circle  curving  o'er  the  leaves, 
So  curving  as  to  form  a  perfect  round. 
'Twould  seem  almost  as  though  Divinity, 
To  write  its  gospel  underneath  our  feet, 
Had  chosen  this  small  plant,  and  had  impressed 
Upon  the  embryo  petals,  ere  their  birth, 
This  symbol  form,  most  perfect  of  all  forms, 
A  miniature  impress  of  God's  signet-ring. 
Each  leaf,  though  separate,  bears  its  segment  due, 
And  all  combined  compose  the  rounded  whole. 
So  far  each  seems  to  bear  an  equal  share 
Of  the  divine.     But  of  the  three,  should  one 
Have  on  it  a  small  drop  of  common  dew, 
A  common  dewdrop,  loveliest  thing  on  earth, 
A  tiny  globule  like  an  opal-stone, 
Or  like  one  of  those  strange  oracular  gems 
Which  shone  of  old  upon  the  high  priest's  breastplate, 
Self-luminous,  outsparkling,  all  aglow 
With  the  Shekinah  glory — that  one  leaf, 
Though  fed  by  juice  from  the  same  earthly  root, 
And  bearing  on  its  face  the  self-same  mark, 
Outshines  them  all.     No  more:  you  understand. 
Then  as  the  three  went  calmly  journeying  on, 


42  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

The  Virgin  thus,  in  meditative  mood, 
Expressed  her  thoughts  aloud. 

"O,  what  a  night! 

I  thank  thee,  my  Creator,  for  this  night. 
The  very  danger  adds  a  zest  to  joy. 
Those  stars  above  us  seem  not  common  stars; 
This  earth  we  tread  on  seems  like  a  new  earth; 
That  tuft  of  palm-trees,  waving  from  afar, 
Fans  the  bland  air  like  trees  of  Paradise; 
And  more  than  all,  this  strange,  delicious  light, 
So  softly  penetrant,  so  crystal  clear, 
So  fringed  with  faintly-tinted  stellar  rainbows, 
Streams  through  my  soul,  and  seems  to  wash  away 
All  spots  and  stains  flesh  had  engendered  there. 

See  how  the  infant  Savior  scans  the  stars, 
How  his  large,  innocent  eyes  are  fixed  aloft! 
Perhaps  this  wondrous  light  may  come  from  him. 
But  once  before,  once  only  did  I  see 
Such  light;  it  was  the  night  that  He  was  born. 
And  hark !  these  strains  from  yonder  distant  hill, 
Where  shepherds  watch  their  flocks ! — the  same,  the  same — 
The  song  the  angels  taught  them  on  that  night. 
I  thank  thee,  my  Creator,  for  that  song — 
Glory  to  God!  O,  glory  in  the  highest! 
On  earth  be  peace,  and  good-will  toward  men." 

Some  moments  paused  the  travelers,  to  hear 
That  pastoral  anthem  floating  round  the  hills, 
That  echo  of  a  song  composed  in  heaven, 
And  when  again  the  chorus  pealed  from  far, 
With  one  accord,  then,  Joseph  and  the  Virgin, 
One  sinking  to  a  deep  and  manly  bass, 
The  other  mounting  lark-like,  silver-toned, 
Hand  clasped  in  hand  and  voice  with  voice  commingled, 
They  joined  the  shepherds  in  that  song  of  praise, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  43 

The  whilst  high  heaven's  golden  portals  opened, 

And  such  a  stream  of  harmony  august, 

Commixed  with  voices  high-angelical, 

Pealed  downwards  through  the  peopled  orbs  of  space, 

In  unison  with  music  of  the  spheres, 

That  the  whole  universe  through  all  its  breadth 

And  height  and  depth  grew  tremulous  with  joy, 

And  as  the  diapason  rolled  along, 

Those  heaven-sweet  words  could  still  be  heard  through  all, 

Glory  to  God,   0,  glory  in  the  highest! 

On  earth  be  peace,  and  good-will  toward  men  ! 


CANTO  II. 

AMONG    THE    SHEPHERDS. 

§ESCEND  we  now  from  these  empyreal  heights, 
Where  human  spirits  dare  not  linger  long, 
And  liken  what  has  faintly  been  described 
To  things,  though  earthlier,  easier  to  conceive. 
As  in  that  fairy  city  of  the  sea, 
For  its  Rialto  famed  and  Bridge  of  Sighs, 
Whose  streets  are  waves,  whose  wains  are  gondolas, 
Two  centuries  ago,  on  moonlight  nights, 
Two  gondoliers,  at  fitting  space  apart, 
Sung  in  alternate  strophes,  loud  and  clear, 
But  sweetly  pensive,  Tasso's  epic  song, 
Chanting  of  battles  fought  in  Holy  Land, 
And  how  Jerusalem  was  won,  how  won 
The  tomb  of  Christ,  with  how  much  toil  and  blood- 
If,  then,  in  midst  of  their  responsive  notes, 
All  of  a  sudden,  some  sweet  chime  of  bells, 
Or  sacred  carillon  from  neighboring  church 


44  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Or  campanile,  church  quick  answering  church. 
Rung  far  and  wide,  the  charm  was  all  complete, 
Still  stood  the  wanderer  on  the  airy  bridge, 
Thronged  were  all  balconies,  and  every  barge, 
Each  pinnace  floating  o'er  the  rapt  lagoon, 
Seemed  spellbound  by  the  music. 
******* 
Gradual  that  spheral  melody  died  away, 
Starting  afresh  whene'er  some  planet  rose, 
Or  rounding  up  into  an  arch  of  sound 
At  every  culmination  of  a  star 
Of  more  than  usual  mark — then  dying  down 
To  silence  at  the  setting  of  some  world 
Which  sank  with  all  its  anthems  down  the  west 
In  ever-lessening  cadence.     Petty  thoughts, 
By  earth  engendered  and  to  earth  confined, 
Were  overflooded  by  an  astral  tide 
Of  meditations  broad  as  utmost  stretch 
Of  galaxies  and  zodiacs  curved  beyond 
The  scope  of  mortal  vision.     Gradual,  too, 
The  superhuman  light  became  more  dim, 
Leaving  an  amber  twilight  on  the  earth 
More  pearly  than  the  radiance  of  the  moon, 
But  fainter,  too,  and  ever  growing  fainter, 
The  whilst  the  travelers  slowly  journeyed  on. 

At  last  they  reached  a  point  where  many  roads 
Like  branches  from  a  larger  trunk  shoot  off, 
To  various  points  diverging.     Joseph  paused 
And  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  stars,  intently 
Gazing,  as  helmsman  in  mid-ocean  scans 
His  compass,  thus  instructed  how  to  steer 
To  some  far  distant  port.     Then,  as  he  gazed, 
His  head,  till  now  so  clear,  became  confused; 
He  wist  not  where  to  turn,  when,  all  at  once, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  45 

The  Infant  Savior  raised  his  little  hand, 

Smiled  with  a  roseate  smile,  and  pointed  up. 

Behold !  extending  on  above  the  line 

Of  one  of  those  five  roads,  appeared  a  band 

Of  winged  seraphs  sporting  in  mid-air, 

Now  seen  and  now  unseen,  in  varying  show. 

Their  airy  plaything  seemed  a  curious  ball, 

Striped  with  seven  listed  hues,  like  heaven's  own  bow, 

Which,  when  in  motion,  tossed  from  hand  to  hand, 

And  swiftly  circling,  made  one  curving  stream 

Of  whitest  light,  most  lovely  to  behold; 

But  which,  when  held  quiescent  in  the  grasp, 

Gleamed  with  a  sevenfold  radiance,     O,  how  fair 

Those  seraph  faces  glowed,  face  behind  face ! 

How  beautiful  beyond  conception's  reach, 

Yon  rounding  circle,  in  the  act  of  forming, 

At  first  seems  shifting  quick  in  rapid  whirl, 

And  then,  with  wings  outstretched,  tip  touching  tip, 

Stands  fixed  a  moment — soon  to  be  dissolved. 

Anon,  a  pair  of  seraphs  rise  aloft 

In  spiral  curves,  the  whilst  another  pair, 

With  wings  alike  in  coloring  and  in  size, 

Seem  wafted  downwards.     Spectacle  jocose, 

Which  pleased  the  Infant's  eye  and  made  him  laugh. 

As  when  at  noontide,  o'er  some  quiet  lake, 

We  mark  a  brace  of  painted  butterflies 

Wheeling  around  each  other  up  the  air, 

The  whilst  a  second  painted  pair  is  seen 

Below  the  wave,  now  wafted  up,  now  down, 

Inversely  as  the  first  pair  sinks  or  mounts. 

Scarce  seven  short  seconds  did  the  vision  last, 
And  during  that  delicious  span  of  time, 
It  three  times  seven  appeared  and  disappeared, 
The  loveliest  coming  last;  for  e'er  it  fled, 


46  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

A  plumed  half-circle  of  seraphic  forms, 
In  number  Thirty-one,  with  wings  half-closed, 
All  bowing  with  their  heads,  on  bended  knees 
In  graceful  poise,  looked  down,  and  kissed  their  hands. 
The  Virgin  kissed  hers,  too,  and  kissed  the  Child's, 
Whilst  Joseph  stroked  his  beard  and  grateful  smiled. 
She  then,  with  cheek  upon  the  Savior's  cheek, 
Soft  touching  soft,  and  fair  with  fair  conjoined, 
Thus  cheerily  spoke  in  accents  mirthful  sweet: 
"  How  oft — it  seems  indeed  but  yesterday — 
Whilst  yet  a  little  child,  in  early  spring, 
Have  I,  on  some  sweet  morning,  danced  and  sung 
On  the  tall  hilltop  near  to  Nazareth, 
Now  gazing  towards  Carmel  and  the  sea. 
Now  glancing  over  Esdraelon's  plain 
To  Lebanon  capped  with  snow.     How  often,  then, 
In  frolic  circles  whirling  round  and  round, 
Have  we — I  mean  the  girls  of  Nazareth — 
Quite  giddy  with  glad  motion,  fallen  plumb  down 
Along  the  daisied  turf,  panting  and  laughing, 
And  all  intoxicate  with  innocent  joy, 
Whilst  the  swift  wheeling  landscape  seemed  to  spin — 
The  sea,  the  plain,  far  Carmel's  nodding  top, 
And  Lebanon's  white-crowned  summits.     O,  the  joy! 
I  never  thought  such  scenes  would  come  again, 
Such  innocence  in  union  with  such  sport. 
Those  winged  ball-players !  how  they  snatched  my  soul 
Above  the  earth,  and  wafted  me  into 
The  mood  of  early  girlhood.     O,  the  joy!" 
Joseph,  refreshed  both  by  the  skyey  vision 
And  by  the  Virgin's  vision-painting  words, 
Moved  onwards  south  by  east  with  step  secure. 
"  With  such  a  merry  pilotage,"  he  said, 
"I  could  contented  tread  around  the  earth, 


The  Flight  into  Egvpt.  47 

Nor  ever  feel  fatigue."     Then  with  a  laugh, 
The  whilst  he  glanced  at  the  white  donkey  near  him, 
"E'en  lumpish  Labor  pricks  up  his  long  ears 
And  moves  with  brisker  pace,  when  frolic  Mirth 
And  Merriment  lead  the  way." 

For  two  hours  then  they  journeyed  without  halt, 
Ever  ascending  ridge  on  airy  ridge, 
Till  through  a  cloven  opening  in  the  crags 
The  road  wound  downwards.     Huge  top-heavy  cliffs 
On  one  side  rose  sky-high  above  their  heads, 
And  on  the  other  yawned  a  dread  abysm, 
Through  which  a  mountain  torrent  chafed  and  moaned 
As  if  half  mad,  half  doleful.     "  Pass  of  Death," 
The  peasants  round  had  called  it  in  their  fear. 
Chill  night-winds  sang  their  requiem  through  its  pines, 
Owls  hooted,  serpents  hissed,  and  jackals  howled, 
Whilst,  from  the  highest  precipice  aloft 
Down  to  the  lowest  bowlder  earthquake-wrenched, 
A  darkling  horror  brooded  night  and  day, 
And  harrowed  every  soul  that  entered  there. 
A  narrow  mule-path  wormed  the  dizzy  side, 
Where  one  false  step  were  death.     With  shuddering  fear 
The  wanderers  entered  in  that  dolorous  gorge, 
But  when  the  mystic  light  which  shone  before 
Illumined  them  again,  their  hearts  were  cheered, 
And  both  burst  forth  into  that  glorious  psalm, 
"The  Lord  my  shepherd  is — I  shall  not  want," 
Which  he  and  Mary,  in  alternate  chants, 
Sang,  passing  through  "  The  Valley  of  Death's  Shade." 

Another  hour  of  travel  brought  them  to 
A  little  band  of  shepherds  on  a  hill, 
Who  chanced  to  be  the  same  who,  on  the  night 
When  Christ  was  born,  were  first  to  hail  their  Lord. 
From  hilltop  on  to  hilltop  they  had  roamed 


48  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

In  search  of  pasture,  ever  moving  south, 
Until,  with  all  their  flocks,  their  kith  and  kin, 
They  reached  that  far-famed  ancient  border-land 
Near  Hebron,  which  the  Patriarchs  dearly  loved. 
At  once  they  recognized  their  Savior  Lord, 
And  gathering  round,  with  shepherd's  staff  in  hand, 
They  worshiped  Him  again  on  reverent  knees. 
Among  them  was  a  father,  son,  and  son's  son; 
One,  with  long  locks  besprinkled  thick  with  gray; 
Another,  with  black  hair  and  raven  beard ; 
The  third,  with  hazel  ringlets  clustering  round 
His  roseate  cheeks,  his  chin  as  smooth  as  girl's. 
So  David  must  have  looked  when  yet  a  lad; 
And  to  complete  the  likeness,  the  boy  bore 
A  sling  and  staff,  and  on  the  harp  could  play. 
Zadoc  his  name;  beloved  wherever  known. 
O.  how  his  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  Child ! 
How  oft  he  clasped  his  hands  and  bent  his  knees, 
How  tears  chased  smiles  across  his  lovely  face! 

Now,  when  they  heard  the  cause  of  Joseph's  flight, 
They  marveled  much.     At  last  the  father  said: 
"  Here  you  may  rest  secure.     Zadoc,  conduct 
The  travelers  to  the  chambers  in  the  rock." 

Zadoc  obeyed,  and  at  a  watch-fire  near, 
Lighting  a  pine  torch,  led  them  down  a  path 
Which  wound  'mong  lonely  hills,  and  reaching  soon 
A  cavern's  mouth,  from  which  outran  a  stream 
Of  purest  water,  guided  them  along 
From  chamber  on  to  chamber,  up  and  down, 
By  sparry  column  and  'neath  fretted  roof 
(Stalactite  and  stalagmite  touching  hands), 
Until  he  reached  the  last  and  largest  room 
Of  all  those  broad  apartments — circular 
Its  form,  with  high-arched  dome  for  ceiling.     There, 


The  Flight  into  Egvpt.  49 

Couched  on  a  mossy  bed,  that  smelt  of  flowers 

And  aromatic  mountain  herbs,  there  lay 

An  old,  old  man,  father  of  that  old  man 

Who  watched  the  sheep  outside.     An  opening  through 

The  center  of  the  dome  let  starlight  in 

And  smoke  of  torchlight  out.     Asleep,  'mid  flowers, 

There  lay  the  hoary  Patriarch,  with  smooth  crown, 

And  silvery  beard  and  side-locks;  wreath  of  snow 

He  seemed,  fresh  fallen  on  flowers;  wreath  doomed  to 

melt 

And  vanish  soon  from  earth.     With  second  sight 
He  now  was  gifted;  twice  had  cut  his  teeth; 
Thus  furnished  with  the  means,  before  he  left 
This  lower  world,  to  see  and  taste  its  charms; 
Short  foretaste  of  a  lovelier  world  above. 
Perhaps  aroused  by  touch  of  some  sweet  dream, 
Perhaps  by  Zadoc's  torch,  perhaps  transpierced 
By  that  soft  penetrant  and  primal  light 
Which  shone  before  the  moon  or  any  star, 
The  old  man  started  to  his  feet,  and  stood 
Bolt  upright,  gazing  raptured  on  the  Child, 
With  arms  stretched  forth  and  long  beard  streaming  down, 
His  eyes  aglow  with  second-sighted  fire, 
And  cried  aloud:  "Hail!  Day-spring  from  on  high." 
Then  on  his  knees  he  fell  and  clasped  his  hands^ 
Zadoc  beside  him  kneeling  with  his  torch, 
And  Joseph  looking  on  with  wondering  smile, 
Whilst  the  calm  Virgin,  folding  to  her  heart 
The  Infant  Jesus,  heavenward  gazed  and  prayed. 
Then  Joseph  took  the  torch  from  Zadoc's  hand 
With  gentlest  touch,  and,  stepping  to  one  side, 
Dipped  it  within  a  cistern  standing  near; 
Whereat  the  effluence  of  that  Other  Light 
Outstreamed  with  unstained  splendor,  filling  all 


50  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

The  caverned  rooms,  the  limpid  spring,  the  dome, 
The  old  man's  shining  crown  and  silvery  beard, 
And  raying  upwards  through  a  hole  in  the  dome, 
Like  an  inverted  cone,  whose  base  was  heaven, 
Added  to  all  the  stars  within  its  cirque 
A  super-stellar  luster.     " Wonderful! 
Can  this  be  heaven  indeed  ?     How  beautiful !" 
Said  the  old  shepherd,  sinking  on  his  couch 
Exhausted  by  the  shock  of  ecstasy, 
And  lapsing  into  sweet  Elysian  dreams, 
From  which  he  never  woke  in  this  lone  world. 
But  Zadoc  knew  not  the  old  man  was  dead, 
And  still  with  pious  tendance,  from  a  basket 
Heaped  fresh  and  fresher  sweets  upon  the  limbs 
Of  his  progenitor,  and  said:  "Good  night, 
Happy  good  night,  and  happy  be  thy  waking! " 
With  other  mountain  herbs  and  flowers  he  spread 
A  couch  on  the  other  side  of  the  caverned  fount, 
Where,  in  soft,  fragrant  coolness,  with  the  Child 
The  Virgin  slept;  whilst  Joseph,  at  her  feet, 
Wearied  with  toilsome  tramping  through  the  night, 
Sank  from  a  heaven  of  dreams  to  slumber  blank, 
Like  skylark  sinking  from  morn's  gorgeous  clouds 
Down  to  the  clodded  earth.     Here  let  us  pause. 


CANTO  III. 

A    BLESSING    FROM    INFANT    LIPS. 

fARLY  they  started  on  their  next  day's  tour. 
Joseph  had  loved  the  morning  all  his  life; 
He  loved  it  now  at  forty.     Silvery  skeins, 
Infrequent  yet,  like  threads  of  thinnest  frost 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  51 

Or  fringing  snow  on  glossy  evergreens, 

Commenced  to  seam  his  locks,  still  black  and  full. 

Like  berries  seemed  they  in  first  autumn-tide. 

His  forty  years  had  faded  not  his  bloom, 

Had  spared  the  blush-rose  carmine  of  his  cheeks; 

The  fresher  they  for  those  slight  skeins  of  snow. 

Symmetrical  his  limbs  and  large  of  mold, 

With  nose  shaped  aquiline,  but  not  too  much, 

With  eyes  both  dark  and  bright,  dream-beaming,  large 

(All  wide  awake  and  open-orbed,  though  dreamy), 

With  mouth  which  likewise  opened  easily, 

Keeping  good  time  and  measure  with  his  eyes; 

(When  they  laughed,  that  laughed  too — a  laugh  sincere). 

One  would  have  taken  him  for  a  guileless  man, 

Core-sound  in  soul  and  body — through  and  through, 

A  man  whom  all  men  trusted — true  as  steel. 

His  broad,  high  forehead  seemed  the  dome  of  thought, 

And  rose  above  his  sanguine-tinted  cheeks 

As  some  pure  marble  temple,  round  at  top, 

Rises  at  eventide  above  a  stream 

On  which  the  blood-red  clouds  have  cast  their  glow. 

High  self-command,  that  crown  of  all  that's  good, 

Strong  in  his  youth,  and  strengthening  year  by  year, 

Moon-like  and  cold  itself,  and  chastely  pure; 

But,  like  the  moon,  brimful  of  subtlest  power, 

Now  governed  all  the  ebbs  and  flows  of  his  blood, 

As  Cynthia  governs  ocean;  so  that  both 

His  blood  and  th'  ocean  wave,  by  God-formed  laws, 

With  no  stagnation  cursed,  or  torpid  calm, 

Pulsing  in  finely  modulated  rhythm, 

In  ebb  or  flow,  aye  kept  their  healthful  dance. 

His  trade,  too — wonder  not  at  that,  my  friend, 

His  trade  had  passed  with  healthful  influence 

Into  his  brain  and  heart,  and  helped  to  feed 


52  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Them  both  to  greater  purity  and  strength. 

The  carpenter,  like  the  mason,  makes  his  tools 

(Or  he  may  make  them  if  he  will)  his  types, 

His  emblems,  and  the  load-stars  of  his  life. 

The  compasses,  and  that  which  they  describe, 

The  plumb-line,  the  chalked  cord,  the  rule,  the  saw, 

The  gimlet,  auger,  broadax,  hatchet,  plane, 

All  these,  could  they  but  speak,  would  tell  a  tale 

Enforcing  or  imparting  some  great  truth, 

Which,  moving  from  the  workman's  hand  to  his  heart, 

Like  sap  from  root  to  tree-top,  would  inform 

And  fill  the  whole  with  vigor,  life  and  light. 

Nor  is  this  all;  the  brain  is  often  tasked; 

The  man  must  form  exemplars  in  his  mind 

Unseen,  before  the  outward  work  appears; 

Must  calculate,  must  measure,  must  forecast, 

Must  strive  to  fathom  numbers'  wond'rous  laws, 

The  laws  which  govern  geometric  forms, 

And  mastering  them,  unconsciously  imbibes 

The  deep  and  holy  symbolism  they  contain. 

And  so  it  was  with  Joseph;  his  good  trade, 

Firm  following  nature's  plan,  had  fashioned  him 

In  symmetry  complete,  inside  and  out, 

To  manhood's  finest  type. 

He  had  worked  in  his  youth 
With  many  hundred  skillful  carpenters, 
His  friends  and  compeers  some,  some  foreigners, 
On  the  new  temple  which  King  Herod  built 
To  God  on  Mount  Moriah.     Few  could  there 
Excel  him  in  design  or  execution, 
And  none  with  quicker  insight  could  embrace 
The  general  plan  or  master  the  details; 
So  that  henceforward,  to  the  end  of  life, 
The  whole  fair  structure,  with  its  outer  walls, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  53 

Its  various  gates,  with  all  their  names,  its  courts, 

Court  above  court,  with  numbered  steps  to  mount, 

Its  altars  for  burnt-offering  or  for  incense, 

Its  brazen  sea,  its  lavers,  and  its  fonts, 

The  Holy  Place,  with  all  that  there  belonged, 

And  all  the  various  Temple  furniture, 

Hung  like  a  living  picture  in  his  mind, 

Warm,  life-like,  vivid. 

Often,  with  eyes  firm  closed  or  in  the  dark, 

These  images,  with  all  their  hidden  meanings, 

Rose  to  his  soul,  like  visions  from  the  sea 

Beheld  by  prophet  or  inspired  seer, 

Until  his  spirit,  like  a  hallowed  fane, 

Became  aglow  with  consecrated  thoughts, 

And  his  words  streamed  like  incense. 

Such  had  been 

His  wont,  while  still  a  workman  in  the  temple, 
And  when  his  thoughts  and  fancies  all  were  shaped 
By  what  he  wrought  on.     Higher  views  since  then 
Had  dawned  upon  his  soul,  a  holier  Star 
Had  risen.     Visions  heavenly  sweet  he  had 
Of  a  Celestial  Temple,  not  of  wood 
Or  stone,  nor  built  by  human  hands,  of  which 
The  first  was  but  a  shadow,  soon  to  pass. 
Hence,  all  the  later  branchings  of  his  soul 
Were  brighter  than  the  first,  and  nearer  heaven. 
Conceptions  drawn  from  objects  of  the  earth 
Oft  aid  the  mind  in  grasping  thoughts  divine; 
Swings  are  they,  hung  on  boughs  of  earthly  trees, 
To  waft  us  nearer  to  the  trees  of  heaven. 
One  more  similitude  may  make  all  plain, 
Reflecting,  like  a  mirror,  Joseph's  soul. 
Behold  yon  antique  sycamore,  which  stands 
On  yonder  rounded  knoll,  above  a  stream 


54  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Where  once  a  furnace  stood,  in  days  gone  by; 

We  can  behold  it  from  this  pillared  porch; 

('Tis  not  like  sycamores  of  Palestine, 

But  such  as  grow  in  this,  our  Western  World.) 

Bronze  seems  its  trunk,  and  bronzed  the  lower  limbs 

All  downward  twisted,  pointing  to  the  earth, 

And  casting  twisted  shadows  on  the  bole 

In  the  clear  light  of  morn;  the  upper  boughs — 

See  how  they  glisten  heavenward,  amber-white, 

Like  purest  alabaster,  tapering  fine, 

From  all  sides  beckoning  upwards  1 

A  grand  old  tree  to  look  on  at  all  times! 

But  most  of  all,  on  some  calm  autumn  eve, 

When,  having  shed  its  leaves,  its  form  stands  out 

More  prominent  against  the  western  heavens. 

See,  how  the  sky-line  of  yon  distant  hills 

Cuts  its  huge  bulk  in  twain!     How  black  below 

The  severing  line  shows  the  swart  shadowy  trunk, 

Whilst  all  above t  in  clearest  tracery  drawn, 

The  ivory  boughs,  with  all  their  pendent  balls 

And  intricate  branch-work,  hang  in  rosy  air 

As  if  self-poised.     Such,  viewed  in  its  totality,  appears 

To  the  mind's  eye,  the  tree  of  Joseph's  life, 

Seen  from  our  present  standpoint.     Lo !  again 

The  vision  mounts  before  me,  and  I  follow. 

Early  they  started  on  their  morning  journey. 
The  Patriarch,  they  supposed,  was  sweet  asleep, 
And  Zadoc  lay,  all  prostrate,  on  his  face, 
As  though,  whilst  kneeling,  he  had  lost  his  poise, 
And  thus  had  sunk  to  slumber.     "  Better  thus, 
Than  roused  before  his  time,"  said  Joseph,  softly, 
And  led  the  Virgin  from  the  silent  cave. 

Outside,  all  things  were  rousing  into  life, 
Cocks  crowing,  cattle  lowing,  caroling  birds 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  55 

Astir  on  every  tree-top — freshening  airs 

Shook  every  leaf,  and,  whispering  with  soft  breath, 

Called  on  the  sun  to  rise  above  the  hills. 

The  ass  they  found  still  tethered  on  the  mead, 

Where  he  had  browsed  some  hours  on  dewy  grass, 

Now  fresh  for  morning  travel. 

Joseph  had, 

Before  they  left  the  town  of  Ephratah, 
Fashioned  a  saddle  with  much  care  and  skill, 
Cushioned  and  draped  and  nicely  stuffed  and  lined, 
So  as  but  little  to  oppress  the  beast, 
And  give  the  rider  a  soft,  easy  seat. 
Chairlike  its  form,  and  there  sat  the  Madonna, 
As  painters  represent  Cassiopeia, 
High-seated  on  her  chair  near  Cepheus  old, 
Her  feet  on  th'  Arctic  Circle.     There  she  sat 
In  graceful  attitude,  and  glanced  around 
On  all  the  varying  landscapes  which  they  passed, 
Without  or  jolt  or  jar  to  vex  her  thought, 
Or  interrupt  her  meditative  mood; 
By  day,  her  face  close  veiled,  with  openings  twain 
Through  which  her  eyes  beamed  starlike,  whilst  at  night 
The  veil  was  drawn,  so  that  the  holy  stars 
Might  gaze  on  something  holier  than  themselves. 

In  this  guise  moved  they  on.     Ere  long  they  passed 
A  cottage,  where,  beneath  a  trellised  bower, 
Wreathed  and  o'erhung  with  clustering  vines,  they  saw 
Two  women  at  a  hand-mill  grinding  corn; 
One  threw  the  grains  by  gradual  handfuls  in, 
The  other  turned  the  mill  with  pleasing  toil; 
Each  in  alternate  strophes  sang  one  song, 
While  both  joined  in  the  chorus  as  it  came. 
As  this  went  on,  the  master  of  the  house 
And  his  fair  spouse  were  kneeling  on  the  roof, 


56  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

With  faces  turned  toward  the  Holy  Place, 
Absorbed  in  morning  prayer;  thus  was  prepared 
Their  daily  bread,  not  without  orisons 
And  many  a  matin  chant,  sweet  to  the  ear. 

"Lovely,"  said  Joseph,  musing,  "even  yet, 
Is  this  fair  spot,  once  called  the  Promised  Land; 
How  much  more  lovely  once.     But  Palestine, 
Before  with  downward  lapse  she  reach  decay, 
Will,  if  the  prophets  tell  us  truly,  shed 
An  effluence  from  her  like  the  sinking  sun, 
Which,  as  he  sinks,  illumines  other  lands." 

"  Yea,"  answered  Mary,  smiling  with  her  eyes, 
(Her  words  rang  silver-sweet  behind  the  veil,) 
"  As  westering  sun,  when  storms  are  past  or  passing, 
Calls  forth  a  lovely  rainbow  opposite, 
So,  of  this  Promised  Land,  the  sinking  sun 
Will,  as  his  orb  declines,  transfer  the  Promise 
From  his  own  disk  to  a  Celestial  Bow, 
Which,  higher  arched,  as  lower  drops  the  day-star, 
Shall  overspan  the  nations." 

Joseph  bowed, 

And  glancing  round  upon  the  Infant  Christ, 
Moved  on  in  silence,  journeying  to  the  south, 
Heart-happy  with  the  hope  of  glorious  things 
Which  would  with  gladness  fill  the  universe 
Long  after  his  large  bones  entombed  should  be. 

The  sun  had  scarcely  topped  the  eastern  hills, 
Which  spread  their  lengthened  shadows  o'er  the  land, 
When,  passing  through  old  Hebron's  northern  gate, 
They  gazed  with  wonder  on  that  antique  town, 
Where,  full  two  thousand  years  before  that  morn, 
The  Patriarchs,  when  the  giants  were  destroyed, 
Lived  happy  lives,  and  where  they  left  their  bones. 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  57 

One  half  the  town  seemed  wide  awake,  the  other 
Just  waking,  or  still  sunk  in  dreams.     They  passed 
The  Pools  or  Springs,  the  smaller  at  the  north, 
The  larger  southward.     There  they  paused  a  time 
To  mark  how  up  and  down  its  fourfold  stairs, 
(One  staircase  at  each  corner,  and  each  furnished 
With  one  and  thirty  steps,)  the  water-carriers, 
With  many  a  jocund  shout  and  many  a  song, 
Saluted  as  they  passed  and  hailed  each  other. 
Stout,  brawny  men  were  some,  herdsmen,  mayhap, 
Or  camel  drivers,  sweating  under  weight 
Of  water  borne  in  goatskins,  (save  the  legs 
The  goat  complete — strange  bottle  we  should  think;) 
Others,  fair,  delicate  damsels,  mostly  veiled, 
Graceful  in  motion,  springy  in  their  tread, 
And  all  as  blithesome  as  the  morning  air. 
One,  with  light  yoke,  on  which  two  buckets  hung, 
Went  tripping  down  the  steps  like  a  gazelle; 
Another,  gracefully  draped  and  nicely  veiled, 
As  well  became  an  oriental  maid 
Of  modest  port,  came  slowly  up  the  stairs, 
On  her  young  head  adroitly  balancing 
A  bellying  water-jar  full  to  the  brim. 
This  last,  beholding  Joseph  standing  there, 
Stroking  his  beard  and  looking  on  well  pleased, 
Stepped  timidly  up,  and  bending  on  one  knee, 
And  holding  forth  a  silver  cup,  thus  spake: 
"Good  father,  thou  dost  seem  a  stranger  here, 
Born,  mayhap,  far  from  Judah's  mountains;  take, 
I  pray  thee,  from  thy  humble  handmaid's  hand 
A  cup  of  cooling  water — trifling  gift — 
Water  which  Father  Abraham  of  old 
Oft  tasted  in  his  time — so  says  the  Book — 
For  which  small  favor  all  I  ask,  my  lord, 


58  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Is  simply  thy  kind  blessing." 

Then  Joseph  took  the  cup,  and  raised  his  hands, 

And  blessed  her  once,  twice,  thrice — then  passed  the  cup 

To  Mary,  who  first  gave  the  Child  to  drink, 

Then  drank  herself,  strengthened  and  doubly  pleased : 

First,  that  the  water  was  both  cool  and  good; 

And,  secondly,  because  of  good  old  times. 

Joseph  drank  last,  and  from  the  self-same  cup, 

And  from  the  self-same  spot  those  lips  had  touched, 

Because  he  was  a  man  of  mickle  faith, 

And  thought  some  hallowed  virtue,  from  such  touch, 

Might  aid  the  force  of  that  memorial  fount. 

Joseph's  big  heart,  like  green  Gerizim's  Mount, 
Gushed  forth  with  springs  of  sweetest  kindliness, 
With  no  bare  Ebal  frowning  opposite 
For  curses  foul  to  lodge  on.     Not  because 
He  hoped  the  blessing  might  be  blessed  to  him  ; 
From  selfish  motives  free,  he  had  called  down 
From  heaven  a  benediction  on  the  maid. 
The  founts  of  his  benevolence  were  fed 
From  veins  deep-seated  and  forever  flowing, 
Which  freshened  all  around  him.     But,  behold! 
What  he  had  least  expected  came  to  pass. 

Gazing  with  large-eyed  love  on  Joseph's  face, 
Behold!  the  Child  has  raised  his  dimpled  hands, 
And  smiling  with  a  smile  half  arch,  half  grave, 
Such  as  young  cherubs  smile  in  highest  heaven, 
And  prattling  on  as  babes  are  wont  to  do, 
In  half-articulate  accents  heavenly  sweet, 
In  imitation  of  his  foster-sire, 
Behold !  with  uplift  hand  and  sun-bright  eyes, 
The  whilst  on  high  a  sudden  rainbow  comes 
And  goes,  and  haloes  play  around  His  head, 
HE  babbles,  lispingly,  His  blessing  too. 


The  Flight  into  Egvpt.  59 

He  blessed  his  foster-father,  then  the  maid. 
Thus  she  received  a  double  benison, 
Blessed  by  the  fatherly  man,  and  by  the  Babe. 
Such  twofold  blessing  blessed  her  through  all  time: 
One,  like  an  unseen  chain  enwound  her  heart, 
And  thence  was  borne  on  wings  of  spirit-dove 
Up  to  God's  throne;  the  other,  like  a  stream 
Of  heaven-electric  fluid  flashed  adown 
The  golden  links,  and  thrilled  her  inmost  soul. 

Again  the  travelers  trod  the  open  fields, 
And  being  joined  by  a  stout  countryman, 
Who  owned  a  farm  about  a  league  from  town 
And  now  was  journeying  homewards,  much  they  talked 
Of  fig  trees,  olive 'yards,  and  crops  of  grain, 
Of  harvest-homes  and  jolly  sheep- shearings. 
The  man  was  full  of  honesty  and  mirth, 
And  rattled  on  in  artless,  rustic  style, 
Striving  to  cheer  their  way  with  simple  chat. 
Good-naturedly  the  foster-sire  joined  in, 
And  asking  many  questions,  answered  some. 

"Behold  yon  terraced  vineyards,"  said  the  man; 
"You  should  be  here,  my  friend,  at  vintage-time; 
Of  all  the  scenes  of  mirth  that  is  the  merriest. 
Then  Hebron  is  deserted;  out  they  pour, 
Men,  women,  young  and  old,  to  live  in  tents 
Or  booths  or  summer  arbors;  music,  then, 
And  dance  resound  by  night  and  day;  young  men 
And  maidens  tell  each  other  riddles  then, 
As  Samson  used  to  do  in  days  of  old; 
For  then  the  world  was  merrier  than  now; 
Then  Roman  camps  and  soldiers  were  unknown. 
I  know  not  how  those  Romans  act  at  home, 
But  here  they  only  think  of  work  and  war. 
Some  say  the  promised  Christ  shall  come  ere  long 


60  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

And  conquer  all  the  world.     Then  Caesar's  men 

Must  take  their  flight  across  the  western  sea, 

And  Judah  shall  be  mistress  of  the  world. 

But  here  we  part,  unless  you'll  honor  me 

By  tarrying  at  my  farm-house — see  it,  there, 

Bosomed  in  vines  and  fig  trees — twenty  acres — 

I  have  some  goats  and  asses,  two  fine  cows, 

An  orchard,  and  a  garden,  and  a  wife. 

What  need  of  more  ?     God  speed  you  on  your  journey 

So  saying,  he  waved  his  hand  and  trudged  on  home. 


CANTO  IV. 

JOSEPH'S   REMINISCENCES   OF  EARLY   LIFE. 

well  that  heaven  has  given  us  various  tastes,' 
Said  Joseph,  as  the  farmer  disappeared, 
"Else  man  would  ne'er  expand  his  various  powers. 
With  sweat  of  brow  to  till  the  earth  for  bread, 
Though  often  hard,  is  not  without  its  charms. 
Until  my  sixteenth  year  I  had  been  wont 
To  aid  my  father  in  his  husbandry; 
And  oft,  from  sun  to  sun,  with  goad  in  hand, 
Have  followed  the  slow  oxen  round  the  field, 
Holding  the  plow,  and  singing  merrily. 

"  Once,  O  how  vividly  that  scene  returns! 
The  morning  star  yet  shone — the  sun  not  yet 
Had  tipped  Judea's  mountain-tops  with  fire 
(It  was  in  earliest  spring) — when  high  o'erhead 
A  flock  of  wild  swans,  like  a  winged  wedge 
In  shape,  went  floating  northward.     Far  away 
They  melted  in  blue  space,  and  their  strange  song, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  61 

So  musically  wild,  so  spiritlike, 

Grew  ever  faint  and  fainter,  till  it  ceased. 

"  It  ceased,  but  not  the  wild  emotions  which 
Upsprung  within  my  bosom — an  unrest — 
A  yearning  to  roam  forth  to  distant  lands. 
'And  O,  for  wings/  I  cried,  'to  bear  me  on 
Buoyant  o'er  land  and  sea  to  the  end  of  the  earth!' 
The  field-flower  died  that  day  beneath  my  plow. 
Unheeded;  dull  henceforth  to  me  appeared 
A  farmer's  life — dull  as  the  clod  he  treads  on. 

"  My  father  read  to  me  the  book  of  Ruth, 
And  often  spoke,  in  copious  discourse, 
Of  the  pure  pleasures  of  a  country  life, 
The  ever-varying  labors  of  the  year; 
How  sweet,  at  dawn  of  day,  to  smell  the  sod 
Fresh-turned;  how  sweet  to  hear  the  lowing  kine; 
How  sweet  the  festive  scenes  of  vintage-time, 
The  dance,  the  joys,  the  songs  of  harvest-home. 

"In  vain;  on  travel  I  was  bent;  but  as 
Nor  wings  nor  money  were  at  my  command, 
'  I  will  acquaint  me  with  some  useful  trade,' 
I  said,  '  and,  with  my  tools  upon  my  back, 
Will  roam  from  town  to  town,  from  stream  to  stream, 
From  the  broad  western  sea  to  Jordan's  flood, 
From  northern  Hamath  to  the  desert  sands 
That  stretch  round  Kadesh  Barnea/ 

"In  short, 

With  my  dear  father's  hard-obtained  consent, 
I  learned  the  trade  to  which  I  now  belong; 
And,  carrying  out  my  plan  of  youthful  travel, 
I  traversed  far  and  wide  the  Promised  Land 
(The  loveliest  land  beneath  the  eye  of  God), 
Viewed  Bashan's  giant  cities — standing  yet — 
Slept  on  a  snow-wreath  on  the  top  of  Hermon, 


62  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

And  thrice  the  time  the  moon  doth  wax  and  wane 
(Held  by  the  wond'rous  witchery  of  the  spot), 
On  Lebanon's  cool  top  I  tarried — lodged 
Sometimes  in  open  air  beneath  the  cedars, 
Sometimes  with  shepherds  in  nomadic  tents, 
Sometimes  with  jocund  woodcutters,  sleeping 
In  booths  at  night,  and  shouting  all  day  long, 
With  ax  in  hand,  among  the  cedar  trees. 
How  the  green  giants  crashed  beneath  our  strokes! 
Nor  did  I  fail  to  visit,  rapture-smit, 
The  threefold  founts  whence  Jordan  fills  his  stream. 
Swift  passed  those  years  of  joyous  wanderings. 

"At  last,  King  Herod,  partly  to  indulge 
His  love  for  building,  partly  to  appease 
His  alienated  subjects,  Hebrew-born, 
Resolved  (as  he  said)  to  repair,  with  pomp, 
The  second  temple,  fallen  to  decay, 
But  (what  was  nearer  truth)  to  build  anew. 
Forthwith  full  eighteen  thousand  men  'gan  work, 
And  worked  for  nine  long  years  without  a  pause. 

"  I  joined  their  number.     What  a  busy  scene! 
From  many  a  land  they  came;  artificers 
In  wood,  in  marble,  brass,  and  ivory, 
In  silver  and  in  gold  and  precious  stones, 
From  Corinth,  Athens,  Rome  and  Persia, 
From  Asia  Minor  and  Phoenicia, 
And  not  a  few  from  this,  our  native  land. 
All  cunning  workmen  here  found  constant  work; 
All  working  on  a  pattern  prearranged, 
Which  was,  as  near  as  altered  times  allowed, 
The  pattern  given  to  Moses  on  the  Mount. 
Slowly  incumbering  ruins  were  removed, 
Slowly  the  solemn  edifice  was  reared. 
Unlike  the  temple  built  by  Solomon, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  63 

Which  silent,  dreamlike,  magical,  uprose 
Without  the  sound  of  hammer  or  of  saw, 
With  Sabbath  stillness,  seven  long,  tranquil  years; 
This  came  to  life  with  many  a  painful  throe, 
With  clang  of  noisy  tools,  and  voice  confused 
Of  many  tongues  and  nations. 

"  Round  each  stone, 

Each  marble  slab,  each  cedarn  beam,  each  shaft, 
Each  tessellated  pavement  of  the  courts, 
Each  portico,  each  golden  gate,  my  heart 
(I  wonder  at  it  now,  since  all  is  past) 
Was  twined  with  an  affection  so  intense, 
It  might  almost  be  termed  idolatry. 
Tis  ever  so,  I  think;  the  builder's  heart 
Is  wrapt  up  in  the  structure  which  he  plans, 
Or  helps  to  rear;  as  that  ascends,  his  soul 
Mounts  with  it,  and  his  eyes  behold,  at  last, 
With  rapture,  the  substantial  thing,  which  once, 
Perhaps  long  years  before,  was  mere  idea. 

"  In  nine  years,  then,  the  fane  was  fit  for  use, 
Though  far  from  being  complete  in  all  details. 
In  size  superior  to  Solomon's, 
It  lacked  the  glory  and  the  sanctity; 
Five  hallowed  things  it  lacked  which  had  the  first — 
The  Ark,  the  Holy  Fire  upon  the  altar, 
The  Urim  and  the  Thummim,  the  Shekinah, 
And  the  prophetic  Spirit  shrined  within. 

"  These  things  I  note,  lest  what  I  mention  now 
Might  much  excite  your  wonder.     One  thing  more : 
Herod,  who  of  the  erected  pile  defrayed 
The  cost,  and  by  whose  order  it  was  reared, 
Has  striven  for  years  to  heathenize  the  land, 
And  lacks  all  reverence  for  what  Moses  taught 
By  inspiration.     Herod's  god  is  self; 


64  The  Flight  into  Egvpt. 

For  selfish  ends  alone  he  worships  Caesar, 

And  to  him  builds  those  beauteous  marble  shrines, 

Which,  with  disgust,  I  have  beheld 

Whilst  wandering  round  the  land.     One  rises  near 

Fair  Paneas,  hallowed  fount  of  Jordan's  stream ; 

The  other  stands  in  a  town  by  the  western  sea, 

Containing  (shameful  sight  to  Hebrew  eyes) 

Two  statues,  one  of  Rome  and  one  of  Caesar. 

Nay  more,  has  he  not  built  without,  within 

Our  Holy  City,  two  most  cursed  piles, 

In  one  of  which  foul  Pagan  plays  are  mouthed; 

And  in  the  other — hateful,  horrid  sight ! 

Wild  beasts,  uncaged,  are  hissed  on  one  another; 

And  captive  gladiators,  doomed  to  death, 

Fight  till  the  floor  is  flooded — grappling  now 

With  lions,  now — O !  butchery  abhorred — 

Hacking  each  other's  flesh  with  blood-red  swords  ? 

And  then  his  games  quinquennial! — how  I  hate 

The  word — and  still,  not  satisfied  with  these, 

He  needs  must  have  Olympic  games  and  shows, 

Mimes,  boxers,  dancers,  acrobats,  buffoons. 

O!  these  things  thought  of,  pain  me  to  the  heart, 

And  almost  cause  me  curse  that  sanguine  fiend, 

Possessed  by  two  foul  demons,  lust  and  cruelty, 

From  whom  we  now  are  flying. 

"But,  enough; 

Words  have  no  power  to  stay  these  poisonous  woes; 
God's  power  alone  can  crush  them.     To  the  point: 

"  At  last  those  nine  long  building-years  ran  round, 
And  that  most  gorgeous  structure  of  the  world, 
Compacted  of  enormous  marble  blocks, 
With  golden  spikes  high  towering  o'er  the  roof, 
Stood  fit  for  use  (though  not  yet  all  complete), 
And  still  some  scaffolding  incumbered  parts 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  65 

Which  needed  yet  the  sculptor's  finishing  touch 
(Chiefly  the  eastern  porch  called  Solomon's); 
When  once,  at  evening's  close,  I  wandered  there, 
Absorbed  in  meditations  manifold, 
Some  sad,  some  glad,  all  weighty  in  their  scope, 
And  seized  with  sudden  whim  to  mount  aloft, 
I  climbed,  by  aid  of  ropes  and  crazy  boards, 
And  stood  upon  the  summit  all  alone. 
Gehenna  lay  beneath;  down,  down,  down 
So  deep  and  black  it  yawned  in  shadowy  depth, 
.That  Fancy,  awe-struck,  whispered:  '  Mouth  of  hell;' 
And  the  hoarse  winds  that  moaned  along  the  gorge 
Seemed  laden  with  the  wails  and  screams  of  children 
Passing  through  fire  to  Moloch.     Owls  and  bats, 
These,  circling,  'gan  to  flit,  and  those  to  hoot; 
Dogs  barked  and  growled  o'er  mangled  carcasses; 
Whilst  from  a  far-off,  barren  mountain-top 
A  pack  of  dolorous  jackals,  hunger-smit, 
Wailed  on  the  muffled  ear  of  coming  night, 
As  if  they  strove  to  rouse  Abaddon  up 
T'  unsheathe  his  red  death-sword,  and  let  them  glut 
Their  famished  maws  to  the  full.     Loud  pealed,  at  times, 
Echoing  from  tower  to  tower,  the  watchman's  cry; 
With  clang  of  bolt  and  bar  the  city  gates 
Were  fastened;  Kidron's  brook,  with  torrent  flood, 
Swollen  by  the  recent  rain,  lifted  its  voice 
Dirgelike,  commingled  with  the  sough  of  pines 
And  cedars,  mourning  round  the  prophets'  tombs, 
And  all  things  round  terrific  seemed  and  dark. 
There,  on  that  toppling  height  I  stood  alone, 
Whilst  thought  on  thought  rolled  floodlike  through  my 

brain. 

"  My  nine  years'  work  was  done.     I  had  been  raised 
Above  all  carpenters  collected  there, 

6 


66  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

And  for  possession  of  superior  skill 

Was  called  the  master-workman.     Fir  and  pine, 

Sandal  and  cedar,  olive,  shittim-wood, 

All  costly  timbers  had  been  furnished  me, 

And  I  had  fashioned  them  to  fitting  shape 

With  thoughtful  brain  and  careful  hand,  forever 

Planning,  devising,  executing,  with 

Much  singleness  of  purpose,  what  was  needed 

For  ceiling,  floor  or  wall,  for  panel-work 

Or  wainscoting,  for  ornament  or  use. 

Did  I  feel  proud,  and  think  upon  my  work 

With  inward  satisfaction  ?     Till  that  night  j 

I  had  done  so — until  that  moment,  rather — 

But  now,  a  shadow  darkened  all  my  soul, 

Blacker  than  that  which  o'er  the  Holy  City 

Was  cast  by  ebon  night. 

Tears  streamed  adown  my  cheeks.     'Jerusalem,' 

I  cried,  'Jerusalem,  how  many  hearts 

Cling  to  thy  walls — thy  hills  — with  love  intense, 

But  chiefly  thee,  Moriah,  highest  mount, 

Site  of  God's  temple,  highest,  holiest  mount! 

To  thee,  in  distant  lands,  thy  wandering  sons, 

Whether  as  exiles  driven  from  thee  far, 

By  the  great  river  roaming,  or  by  Nile, 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  Pyramids, 

Or  under  terraced  Babylon's  weeping  willows, 

Though  rivers,  mountains,  deserts  intervened; 

To  thee,  soon  as  the  hour  of  worship  comes, 

All  eyes,  all  hearts  have  ever  turned  devout, 

As  though  the  worshiper  believed  and  felt 

That  his  warm  prayers,  however  winged  with  faith, 

Could  never  reach  the  ear  of  the  Almighty. 

Unless  they  rose  conjointly  with  the  smoke 

Of  sacrifice  for  sin.     On  thee,  'tis  said, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  67 

The  faithful  Father  of  the  promised  seed, 

With  fire  and  knife  and  sacrificial  wood, 

Came  with  intent  to  slay  his  darling  Son. 

Not  far  from  thee  lived  Salem's  peaceful  King, 

Priest  of  the  Most  High  God,  Melchisedec; 

From  yonder  mountain's  side  perhaps  he  marched 

To  meet  the  Patriarch,  victorious 

From  battling  with  the  kings,  and  rich  with  spoil ; 

Not  far  from  thee,  perhaps,  he  offered  him 

The  mystic  bread  and  wine,  refreshing  food.' 

"  These  recollections  crowded  on  my  mind, 
Prelude  to  thoughts  most  sorrowful  indeed. 
'That  image  of  the  Godhead,  once  impressed 
Upon  man's  soul,  but  now  defiled  and  dimmed, 
Say,  shall  it  ne'er  be  reinstated  there  ? 
The  types  and  shadows  of  a  fiery  law 
Prefiguring  ever  better  things  to  come, 
O,  shall  they  never — never  be  fulfilled  ? 
The  blood  of  goats  and  lambs  and  doves  and  steers, 
The  morning  and  the  evening  sacrifice 
Polluting  the  sweet  air  with  scent  of  death, 
And  dyeing  Kidron  red  with  streams  of  gore, 
O,  when  shall  all  these  things  be  swept  away  ? ' 

"  With  sobs  and  tears,  with  tears  and  frequent  sobs, 
I  breathed  these  questions  on  the  ear  of  night." 


CANTO  V. 

PROSPECTS   PAST,    PRESENT   AND    FUTURF. 

fHEN  Joseph  thus  resumed  his  narrative: 
"Reflecting  thus  upon  the  past  and  present, 
I  often  asked  myself,  and  asked  again: 


68  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

'These  palm-trees,  cherubims,  and  open  flowers 
Of  lily-work  and  image-work  unending, 
Carved  on  the  walls,  the  ceiling,  outside,  in, 
All  overlaid  with  gold  of  finest  hue — 
Have  all  these  power,  with  all  their  symbolism 
Or  fancied  grace  of  figures,  to  wash  clean 
A  soul  defiled  with  sin  ?     O,  never,  never! 
'Twas  well,  perhaps,  and  ordered  from  above, 
That  these,  along  with  those  who  used  them,  should 
(As  far  as  the  first  temple  was  concerned) 
Be  borne,  as  spoils  or  captures,  off  to  Babylon. 
"  '  Sweeter  to  me  than  all  this  wooden  pomp, 
This  wealth  metallic,  is  the  tiniest  flower 
That  hides  its  simple  beauty  in  the  grass, 
Or  peeps  with  virgin  blush  from  out  the  rocks. 
Yea,  e'en  the  modest  lily  of  the  vale, 
That  masks  its  spotless  bloom  in  sheathing  green, 
Teaches  and  preaches  better  things  to  me 
Than  Solomon,  with  all  his  gilded  glory. 
O,  for  a  church  not  made  with  human  hands! 
O,  for  a  high-priest  simple,  pure,  serene, 
To  lead  us  forth  into  the  open  fields 
Where  wheat-stalks,  swaying  to  the  gentle  breeze, 
In  graceful  undulations  bow  their  heads, 
Adoring  Him  who  made  them/ 

"  These  wild  words, 

The  offspring  of  the  moment,  scarce  had  passed 
My  lips,  before  a  fear  and  trembling  seized  me, 
Lest  I  had  uttered  something  very  sinful, 
And  long  I  mused  in  silence.     'Who  can  tell/ 
At  last  I  said,  '  but  that  these  images, 
These  forms  symbolic,  may  prefigure  much 
Which,  though  obscure  at  present,  may  become, 
Under  another  revelation,  clear 


The  Flight  into  Egvpt.  69 

As  day.     As  if  a  man,  absorbed  in  thought, 

Eyes  fixed  on  ground,  and  closely-folded  arms, 

Should  see  a  shadow  floating  on  before  him, 

And,  lifting  up  his  eyes,  should  view  in  air 

A  strange,  large  bird,  with  wide-expanded  wings, 

Bedecked  with  starry  plumes  and  golden  gloss; 

He  wonders  much  from  what  far  land  it  came, 

And  oft  compares  the  dark  and  dusking  shade 

Which  first  aroused  him,  with  the  winged  thing 

Now  gleaming  far  beneath  a  rosy  cloud. 

So,  many  a  dark  and  dusky  type  of  law 

May  lead  the  gazer's  wonder-stricken  eye 

To  a  reality,  sun-bright  and  clear. 

Forgive  me,  gracious  God,  if  I  have  said 

Aught  sinful, or  irreverent.     I  know 

How  blind  is  man  when  light  comes  not  from  heaven. 

Enlighten,  then,  my  darkness  by  thy  light, 

O,  lead  me  forth  from  this  entangled  maze.' 

After  this  prayer  I  stood  long  sunk  in  thought, 

Revolving  many  questions  hard  to  solve, 

And  meditating  through  the  solemn  night." 

Here  Joseph  paused,  as  if  for  rest,  a  time, 
When  the  Madonna,  mildly,  thus  replied: 
' '  What  you  have  said  has  wakened  many  thoughts 
Which  long  have  slept  within  me.     Listen,  then: 
Though  both  of  us  can  trace  up  our  descent 
To  Solomon  and  David,  fo*r  myself, 
I  ne'er  admired  the  first,  nor  do  I  think 
Our  Holy  .Book,  that  mirror  of  the  heart, 
E'er  holds  him  up  as  model  to  be  followed. 
Unbounded  self-indulgence  was  his  bane. 
Sated  with  pleasure,  age  came  creeping  on, 
And  then  life's  night  to  him,  instead  of  stars, 
Showed  ever-deepening  shadows,  with  the  form 


yo  The  Flight  into  Egypi. 

Of  horned  Astarte  dimly  seen  through  gloom ; 

To  her  he  built,  on  once  fair  Olivet, 

An  altar  foul,  to  Chemos  and  to  Milcom, 

And  sanctioned  by  his  presence — woe  the  \vhile — 

That  fearful  spectacle  where  children  passed 

Through  fire  to  ruthless  Moloch.     Shame,  O  shame! 

He  wise?     His  actions  were  nor  wise,  nor  good, 

Whatever  his  words  might  be;  and  such  my  deep 

Aversion  to  the  first,  I  never  could 

Nor  can  admire  the  second — never — never. 

The  little  good  he  did  soon  died  away; 

The  evil  seed  he  sowed  took  root  and  throve, 

Engendering  sin  and  foul  idolatry; 

Sin  sat  beside  him  on  his  ivory  throne, 

Whilst  golden  lions  stood  upon  the  steps; 

The  very  temple  which  he  built  to  God 

Contained  the  germs  of  future  idol-worship; 

The  very  poem,  which  some  call  divine, 

However  learned  Rabbis  may  expound  it, 

Searching  for  mystic  meaning  in  each  word, 

With  animal  passion  is  steeped  through  and  through, 

And  better  suits  a  worshiper  of  Thammuz 

Or  of  Sidonian  Astarte,  than 

Him  who  adores  one  omnipresent  God, 

Pure  and  immaculate  beyond  all  thought. 

'Tis  this  belief  of  one — one  only  God, 

Which  constitutes  the  glory  of  our  faith; 

For  this  we  have  been  made  the  chosen  seed, 

And  aught  that  leads  the  mind  astray  from  this, 

However  smooth  to  touch  or  fair  to  sight, 

Though  fairer  than  those  horses  of  the  sun 

Which  King  Josiah  burned  in  Hinnon's  vale, 

Should  with  abomination  be  beheld, 

And  with  unfaltering  hand  be  swept  away." 


The  Flight  into  Egypt,  71 

So  spake  the  Vestal  voice  behind  the  veil, 

In  ever-deepening  music  to  the  close. 

Joseph,  though  lion-brave  in  every  nerve, 

Had  not  dared  thus  to  speak,  though  thus  he  thought, 

And  felt  the  words  thrill  through  him  like  a  voice 

From  some  far-distant  sphere.     After  due  time 

He  then  resumed  his  former  narrative: 

"Thus  musing,  as  I  said,  through  half  the  night, 
More  tranquil  thoughts  'gan  roll  along  my  mind, 
Like  many-colored  hoops  which  children  drive 
Across  some  level  play-ground.     Brighter  grew 
The  prospect,  as  I  mused;  at  last  I  called 
To  memory  a  passage  in  Isaiah, 
Which  brought  much  consolation  to  my  soul; 
And  then  another  from  that  other  seer, 
Who,  home  returned  from  Babylon,  foretold 
The  building  of  the  second  temple.     Thus, 
Or  nearly  thus,  the  inspired  words  were  penned : 
And  he,  full  gladly,  shall  bring  forth  the  headstone, 
With  shoutings  loud,  and  cries  of  grace  unto  it. 

"  This  was  the  stone  on  which  were  graved  seven  eyes, 
The  seven  high  ministers  of  the  Messiah, 
Which  to  and  fro  do  run  about  the  earth 
To  execute  the  messages  of  mercy. 
The  same  rapt  seer  beheld  two  golden  crowns, 
Wherewith  to  crown  the  Jesus  of  that  time, 
Prefiguring  thus  the  Jesus  of  all  times, 
The  King,  the  great  High-Priest  of  all  the  world. 

"  While  thus  absorbed  and  lulled  by  these  grand  thoughts, 
I  fell  asleep,  and  had  a  wondrous  dream, 
Which  I  will  tell  thee  at  some  future  time." 


72  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 


CANTO  VI. 

UNSEEN   THEMSELVES,    THEY   SEE   THE    ROMAN   CAMP. 

f  ID  WAY  between  the  points  of  dawn  and  noon 
The  ascending  sun  had  journeyed,  quaffing  up, 
The  whilst  he  mounted,  from  ten  thousand  cups, 
His  morning  drink  of  dew;  the  shadows  all 
Were  slowly  shortening;  birds,  heat-smitten,  slunk 
Within  the  wayside  copses,  having  poured 
Their  early  matins  forth  an  hour  agone; 
And  naught  of  dawning  freshness  now  remained, 
Save  here  and  there,  beneath  some  cool  recess, 
Long  spear-grass,  jeweled  o'er  with  pearly  drops, 
Or  overshadowed  flower-bells,  filled  with  tears, 
Wept  o'er  the  grave  of  morning. 

Onwards  still, 

Up  hill  and  down,  along  a  waving  land 
Like  to  a  wafted  vessel  sailing  south, 
The  travelers,  with  undulations  soft, 
Rose  and  descended  many  a  gentle  swell, 
Sweetly  conversing  as  they  moved  along, 
Wrapt  in  remembrance  bland  of  former  scenes, 
Or  filled  with  hopes  of  scenes  as  yet  to  come — 
When,  sudden  turning  round,  they  looked — and  lo! 
An  angel  walked  beside  them. 

Neither  knew 

How  long  he  there  had  walked,  or  how,  or  when — 
And  both  with  pleasure  felt  a  gentle  shock 
Of  quick  surprisal.     As,  some  summer  day, 
After  alternate  spells  of  shine  and  shower, 
An  unexpected  rainbow  spans  the  sky; 
We  know  not  whence  the  apparition  came, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  73 

Or  how  the  magic  arch,  so  silent-swift, 

Was  frescoed  on  heaven's  vault — and,  wondering  much, 

We  gaze  aloft,  and  thank  the  Power  that  sent  it. 

At  first  they  knew  not  'twas  an  angel  there, 
For,  like  a  shepherd  lad,  with  clustering  locks 
And  delicate-tinted  cheeks,  he  seemed  to  move, 
His  sheep-hook  on  his  shoulder  graceful  borne, 
And  hanging  to  his  belt  a  pastoral  scrip. 
Shepherd  in  outer  form  and  in  his  garb 
He  seemed,  but  from  within  a  lustrous  glow- 
Gleamed  ever  and  anon  athwart  his  limbs, 
Like  northern  lights  along  the  vaulted  sky, 
Whilst  from  his  eyes  a  steady  radiance  streamed, 
Like  flame  of  altar-lamps  behind  the  veil. 
So  bards  of  early  Greece,  in  fables  sweet, 
Told  how  Apollo  kept  Admetus'  flocks, 
In  guise  of  youthful  herdsman,  wandering  on 
Through  vales  of  Thessaly,  with  harp  in  hand ; 
And  how  the  simple  hinds  of  green  hillsides 
Were  rapture-smitten  by  his  voice  and  touch; 
And  how  his  smothered  radiance,  ill-concealed, 
At  times  burst  forth  with  Apollonian  glow, 
And  bright  flashed  forth  the  Sun-god. 

On  they  moved, 

The  angel  stepping  soft  beside  them — soft 
As  snow-flakes  sinking  on  the  grass  of  spring, 
When  snow  is  least  expected.     On  his  breast 
A  bunch  of  heaven-strange  flowers,  and  on  his  cap 
A  wreath  of  twining  stems  and  colored  blooms, 
Such  as  grow  not  on  earth,  diffused  the  smell 
Of  that  far-distant  country — strange  and  far — 
Where,  with  twelve  kinds  of  fruit,  the  Tree  of  Life 
Waves  by  a  riverside,  and  every  month 
Bears  a  new  fruit  delightsome.     Sandals  bright 


74  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Buoyed  his  feet,  and  ribbons  many-hued 

And  cross-barred  bound  them  to  his  ankles  neat, 

And  thence  ascending  midway  to  the  knee, 

Ended  in  tassels  gay;  each  buxom  step 

He  took  was  like  a  lifted  rainbow  small, 

And  every  tread  was  like  the  tread  of  one 

Accustomed,  when  at  home,  to  walk  on  gold. 

"I  come,"  he  said,  "in  search  of  a  stray  lamb;' 
And,  as  he  spoke,  he  smiled  so  archly  sweet, 
So  heavenly  innocent,  that  Mary,  too, 
Smiled  in  pure  sympathy — smile  only  seen 
By  angel's  eye,  which,  through  her  virgin-veil, 
Beheld  the  rosy  smile  and  rosier  blush — 
"In  search  of  a  stray  lamb  I  come  from  far; 
For  eagles  are  abroad,  and  a  she-wolf 
Is  hovering  round  these  hills."     Again  he  smiled, 
And  walked  on,  silent,  by  the  Virgin's  side, 
Like  one  who,  having  told  a  riddle,  waits 
Till  time  or  wit  may  solve  it.     The  solution 
Followed  full  soon. 

Before  them  rose  a  hill 

Dark  with  o'ershadowing  trees,  and  overlooking 
A  wide  extent  of  prospect.     When  they  reached 
The  lofty  summit — lo,  before  them  spread 
A  spacious  view  extending  many  a  league, 
And  having  in  its  midst  a  Roman  camp, 
Engirt  with  lofty  walls,  upon  whose  top 
Armed  sentinels  were  pacing  to  and  fro. 
Struck  by  the  sudden  sight,  the  travelers  paused 
And  gazed  with  deep  emotion — almost  awe. 
"  Behold  a  Roman  camp,"  the  angel  said, 
And  pointed  to  it  with  his  shepherd's  staff; 
"  Behold  one  wheel,  one  tiny  portion  of 
The  vast  machine,  so  cunningly  contrived, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  75 

So  potently  compacted,  part  by  part, 

Which  rolls  victorious  over  land  and  sea 

To  subjugate  the  nations,  or  to  keep 

The  conquered  peoples  subject  to  its  rule. 

See,  further  westward,  stretching  o'er  the  plain, 

The  section  of  a  highway,  broad  and  firm, 

Raised  in  the  center,  sloping  at  the  sides, 

And  paved  with  solid  stone-work.     That  strong  road, 

Built,  as  would  seem,  to  last  forever,  leads, 

Or  will,  when  finished,  lead  down  to  the  sea; 

And  at  the  water's  other  verge,  another 

Of  similar  construction,  speeds  to  Rome, 

Conveying  thus  her  legions  to  and  fro 

With  most  unerring  swiftness.     Hundred  such, 

Diverging  to  all  corners  of  the  world, 

Spread  from  the  Roman  Forum,  furnished  all 

With  postal  stations  and  with  harnessed  steeds 

To  waft  with  race-horse  speed  her  mandates  stern 

To  every  distant  nation  crouching  round. 

"  Behold  yon  bridge  spanning  that  deep  ravine. 
If  scanned  more  closely,  you  would  find  how  firm, 
How  massive-solid  is  its  masonry, 
Though  but  a  slender  rill  (at  times  a  flood) 
Trickles  beneath  its  arch. 

"  'Tis  thus  they  build. 
The  same  stability  marks  all  they  touch. 
Their  roads,  their  bridges,  aqueducts,  their  fanes, 
Seem  fashioned  to  confront  Eternity, 
Proclaiming  through  all  time — a  Roman  made  us. 
And  as  they  build  they  fight.     The  same  strong  hand 
With  equal  skill  can  wield  the  sword  and  spade, 
The  spear  and  trowel.     And  as  they  fight  they  frame 
Their  laws,  their  treaties,  foreign  policies, 
By  force  of  arms  or  by  diplomacy 


76  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Moulding  the  nations  to  Rome's  iron  will. 

There's  not  a  soldier  in  yon  bastioned  camp 

Who  says  not  to  himself:  '  The  Queen  I  serve 

Is  named  the  Eternal — she  can  never  fall — 

Seven  thrones  are  hers — each  throne  built  on  a  hill- 

And  there  she  sits  supreme  from  age  to  age, 

And  ever  shall  sit,  ruling  the  round  earth 

As  the  moon  rules  the  ocean.'     Deeming  thus 

Himself  the  servant  of  such  Sovereign  Queen, 

Whate'er  he  does  with  spade,  or  sword,  or  word, 

Is  done  as  if  done  for  Eternity. 

So  let  it  stand — impressed  upon  the  thing, 

Whatever  it  may  be — or  word,  or  deed. 

"Such  are  the  people  you  shall  soon  behold; 
For  if  you  both  desire  it,  I  have  power 
To  lead  you  through  yon  camp  from  end  to  end, 
Unseen,  invisible  to  every  eye, 
And  safe  as  now  you  stand  on  this  high  hill." 

Joseph,  delighted,  thanked  the  courteous  guide, 
And,  after  consultation  held  with  her 
Whose  will  ruled  all  his  actions,  said :  "  Lead  on, 
We  both  desire  to  view  the  Roman  camp, 
And  have  no  fear  lest  any  harm  or  hurt 
Assail  the  Babe,  or  us,  with  such  a  guide; 
Lead  on;  we  follow  with  untrembling  steps." 

Midway  between  the  hillside  and  the  camp 
The  angel  paused,  and  taking  from  his  scrip 
What  he  required  for  his  present  needs, 
Prepared,  by  superhuman  means,  a  tent 
Or  canopy  to  shield  them  from  the  view 
Of  any  mortal  eye.     In  doing  this 
He  used  material  means — and  thus — as  seemed: 
A  tiny  golden  box,  a  crystal  vial, 
And  a  thin  wand,  shaped  like  a  jointed  reed — 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  77 

These  were  the  simple  instruments  he  used. 

The  wand  was  formed  of  several  parts,  which,  fitting 

One  into  the  other,  swelled,  combined,  its  length 

To  many  feet.     It  had  three  subtle  springs, 

Which,  deftly  touched,  could  send  forth  each  a  prong; 

Each  prong  of  different  metal — each  unlike 

Aught  known  on  earth — each  potent  to  attract 

Or  to  repel.     Such  was  the  wand  in  structure. 

Then,  from  the  box  he  drew  a  hair-thin  chain 

(So  small  its  links  they  scarce  were  visible), 

And  hooking  one  end  to  the  slender  wand, 

The  other  in  the  golden  box  was  coiled. 

Next,  lifting  up  the  wand  arm's-length  above 

His  head,  and  at  the  same  time  deftly  touching 

One  of  the  springs,  a  needle-point  flew  out, 

Which  drew  from  heaven,  as  quick  as  quickest  thought, 

A  flash  electric,  which  sped  down  the  chain, 

And  kindled  in  the  box  some  solid  lumps, 

Melting  them  to  a  fluid.     This  he  poured 

Into  a  vial.     Next,  with  equal  speed, 

Heating  a  small-sized  diamond  to  white  heat, 

He  dropped  it  in  the  fluid — when,  behold! 

A  vapor  issued  forth  and  spread  around, 

Like  volumed  wreaths  of  steam. 

Then,  with  his  wand 

Waving  the  vapor  to  what  shape  he  chose 
(It  seemed  obedient  to  his  slightest  wish), 
Around  them  and  above  them,  magic-quick, 
Uprose  a  thin  rotunda,  all  of  haze, 
Arched  overhead,  and  round  as  that  fair  fane 
Which  once  by  Anio's  cataract  enshrined 
The  fire  of  Vesta,  kindled  by  the  sun, 
And  watched  by  virgins.     Holier  fire  was  here, 
Close-guarded  by  the  Virgin  of  all  worlds, 


7.8  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

And  shrined  secure  within  the  rounded  space 
Of  that  strange,  vapory  tent. 

Unseen  themselves 

(Such  was  the  nature  of  that  wondrous  haze), 
They  saw  all  things  around  them.     As  they  moved, 
It  moved  with  equal  pace,  and  when  they  paused, 
It  paused. 

As  water,  by  its  nature,  can 
Assume  the  form  of  ice,  or  wave,  or  steam, 
So,  this  same  substance,  wonderful,  triform, 
Was  either  solid,  liquid,  or  a  gas, 
Just  as  the  angel  willed.     Now,  by  his  will, 
He  kept  it  in  the  tent-like  shape  described, 
Diaphanous  to  those  within — opaque 
To  th'  outside  world,  and  holding  all  intact 
The  veiled  Shekinah  Glory  curtained  there. 
And  as  they  moved  along,  the  angel  spoke 
In  simple  words,  and  language  plain  and  clear, 
About  the  Roman  army — how  enlisted, 
Whence  named,  how  organized,  and  how  arranged, 
How  many  troops  composed  a  century, 
How  many  centuries  a  maniple, 
How  many  maniples  a  cohort  full, 
How  many  cohorts  constitute  a  legion, 
How  many  legions  form  the  force  complete, 
Stationed  in  separate  camps  around  the  world — 
From  smaller  thus  to  larger,  stretching  out 
In  ever-widening  circles.     Thus  the  mind, 
Grasping  some  object  vast  and  complicate, 
Moves  on  from  part  to  part,  from  wheel  to  wheel, 
Disjoins,  connects,  unlinks,  and  reunites, 
Until  the  whole  machine,  however  huge, 
However  multiform  and  many-limbed, 
Springs  into  gear,  and  plays  within  the  brain, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  79 

Filling  the  soul  with  rapture.     Ne'er  before 
Had  Joseph  felt  the  power  of  simple  words 
In  all  its  fullness;  words  became  ideas, 
Ideas  most  living  things;  and  the  whole  soul, 
Enlarging  ever  as  it  grew  more  full, 
Rose  like  a  freed  balloon,  and,  soaring  up, 
Widened  the  prospect  both  of  earth  and  sky. 

Scarce  had  he  finished  when  they  reached  the  camp, 
Before  whose  northern  gate,  on  either  side, 
A  sentinel,  in  statue-like  repose, 
Stood  at  his  post,  nor  looked  to  right  or  left, 
As  though  the  unvarying  sameness  of  his  task 
Had  hardened  flesh  and  blood  to  breathless  bronze, 
And  taken  away  the  very  power  of  yawning. 
Above  the  gateway's  central  arch  was  seen 
A  double-visaged  Janus.     One  face  looked 
In  dreamy  meditation  to  the  East, 
With  antique  matted  beard  and  eyes  half-shut, 
Musing  on  falling  empires.     Youthful-gay, 
With  smooth,  unrazored  chin,  the  other  seemed, 
Upward  and  onward  gazing,  like  to  one 
Who  dreams  of  Blessed  Islands  far  away, 
And  undiscovered  Edens  in  the  West. 
One  mourned,  like  Saturn,  for  an  Age  of  Gold 
Long  since  departed;  one,  with  radiant  smile, 
Saw  Golden  Ages  opening  on  the  view 
In  beatific  visions  half-disclosed. 

Unseen,  they  passed  into  the  martial  camp, 
Unheard  but  by  themselves  they  spoke  their  thoughts, 
Unseen,  unheard,  the  infant  Prince  of  Peace 
Was  borne  upon  his  mother's  virgin  breast 
Among  the  sons  of  war. 

The  ground  on  which 
The  camp  was  placed  sloped  downwards  to  the  south, 


So  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Whilst  near  its  narrow  entrance  rose  a  knoll, 

On  whose  green  swell,  o'ershadowed  by  a  tuft 

Of  palm-trees,  was  erected,  high  and  cool, 

The  general's  pavilion;  conical 

In  shape,  and  topped  by  a  bright  golden  globe — 

Type  of  the  world's  dominion.     Beautiful 

In  form  and  color  was  the  canvas  structure, 

With  awning-covered  vestibule  in  front, 

Upheld  by  burnished  pikes,  whilst,  on  the  sides, 

Swords,  golden-hilted,  crosswise  hung  for  show, 

Added  their  splendor  to  the  martial  scene. 

Over  the  whole  and  in  the  midmost  front 

Was  seen  an  eagle,  all  of  massive  gold, 

Clutching  a  thunderbolt.     Beautiful,  too, 

On  either  side  the  awning  of  the  porch, 

A  little  in  advance,  uprose  the  trunk 

Of  a  huge  oak,  lopped  of  its  spreading  boughs, 

And  tastefully  o'erhung  with  splendent  arms, 

All  trophy-wise  arranged  with  cunning  skill, 

Where,  gleaming  in  the  sun,  appeared  to  view 

A  glistening  helm  a-top; 

Spear-heads  around  the  sides,  and  points  of  swords; 

Hauberks  and  loricated  coats  of  mail 

Around  the  breast-like  center; 

Shields,  battle-axes,  halberts,  two-edged  blades, 

Bows  of  all  kinds  and  quivers  golden-sheathed — 

All  heaped  around  in  orderly  disorder, 

As  though  the  work  of  chance. 

A  day  it  was 

Of  high-tide  festival  for  all  the  camp, 
The  birth-day  of  Augustus.     Underneath 
The  awning  of  the  tented  porch  were  seen 
Tables  containing  viands  of  fine  gust, 
And  rich  old  wines  reserved  for  gala-days, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  81 

At  which  the  general,  with  many  friends, 

Was  seated,  crowned  with  flowers  and  ivy-leaves. 

Urbane  and  dignified  was  all  they  said, 

Manly  their  port  and  marked  with  honest  mirth. 

A  richly-sculptured  chalice,  of  great  size, 

Was  brimmed  within  with  old  Falernian  wine, 

Whilst  on  the  outside,  beautiful  to  see, 

Was  pictured  youthful  Ganymede,  upborne 

By  Jove's  own  eagle,  on  that  jocund  morn 

Of  early  May,  to  be  the  cupbearer 

To  high  Olympian  gods  and  goddesses. 

See,  as  he  mounts,  how  all  his  shepherd  friends 

Gaze  wonder-smitten — how  the  silly  sheep 

Huddle  together — how  the  'wildered  dogs 

Bark  upwards ! 

Strange  that  old  poetic  myths 

Like  these  should  still  have  power  to  charm  us !     Much 
The  simple-hearted  Joseph  wondered,  too, 
What  meant  such  strange  translation  to  the  skies, 
And  first  was  pleased,  but  soon  was  more  displeased, 
Comparing  with  the  sculptured  imagery 
Upon  the  heathen  drinking-cup,  the  pure 
Word-pictures  he  had  read  so  oft 
Of  Enoch  rapt  aloft  by  power  divine, 
And  of  Elijah's  chariot  of  fire. 

And  then  a  lyre  was  brought,  and  one  among 
Their  number  sang  a  sweet,  delicious  ode 
In  praise  of  him  who  once  was  called  Octavius — 
And  of  the  battle  fought  at  Actium, 
And  how  the  peerless  Queen  of  Egypt  fled, 
And  how  her  lover,  deaf  to  honor's  voice, 
Fled  after  her  disgraced,  debased,  undone — 
Fled  first  from  battle,  then  from  weary  life, 
And  how  the  Queen,  in  all  her  robes  of  state 


82  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Attired,  with  golden  crown  upon  her  head, 

In  queenly  fashion  rather  chose  to  die 

From  poisonous  bite  of  asp,  than  swell  the  pomp 

Of  a  proud  Roman  triumph.     Tears  'gan  flow 

At  these  last  words;  for,  more  than  one  there  present 

Had  in  their  early  manhood  viewed  the  Queen, 

And  knew  the  wondrous  witchery  of  her  charms, 

And  had  beheld  her  in  her  gilded  barge 

Floating  adown  the  Cycnus.     Three  times  three 

Then  drank  the  warriors  to  Augustus'  health, 

Dashing  the  transient  teardrop  from  the  cheek, 

And  fixing  swimming  eyes  on  Ganymede, 

Until,  like  him,  on  fancied  eagle-wings 

They  soared  aloft  in  thought  and  entered  heaven. 

With  one  consent  they  turned  and  faced  the  south, 
When,  lo!  from  that  green  height  the  whole  wide  camp 
Was  spread  before  them.     "See,"  the  angel  said, 
"The  streets,  how  straight;  the  tents,  how  regular; 
The  ramparts,  how  compact  and  tall;  the  moats, 
How  deep  and  wide;  the  whole,  how  strong  and  square. 
A  little  city  fortified  it  seems, 
Where  every  man  may  feel  himself  secure. 
Hark !  how  those  mingled  sounds  assault  the  ear, 
Shouting  of  soldiery,  neighing  of  steeds, 
The  bray  of  trump,  the  voice  of  shrilling  pipe, 
And  all  the  various  din  which  warriors  make 
When  holiday  unchains  them.     But,  behold 
Yon  veteran  this  way  moving  with  slow  step, 
Surrounded  by  a  group  of  younger  men, 
Some  slaves,  some  friends.    That  man  has  made  his  mark, 
And  well  deserves  your  study." 

Nearer,  then, 

The  man  came  up,  and  on  a  seat  of  turf 
He  sat  him  down  beneath  the  fanning  leaves 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  83 

Of  a  young  palm,  and  thus  was  heard  to  speak 
Like  one  who  thinks  aloud,  but  little  heeding 
How  those  around  him  may  receive  his  words: 


CANTO  VII. 

VICTOR   AND   THE  EAGLE. 

!  when  will  Janus'  temple  ope  again? 
When  will  the  thousand  bolts  be  all  rolled  back, 
And  War's  loud-bellowing  voice  be  heard  to  roar, 
Rousing  the  drowsy  nations  into  life  ? 
Next  month,  Mars  willing,  I'll  return  to  Rome, 
And  change  my  war-sword  for  a  pruning-hook, 
Working  from  sun  to  sun  among  my  vines. 
I  own  a  little  farm  among  the  hills; 
You  know  the  spot — there  tumbling  Anio  roars 
In  never-ceasing  cataracts.     The  soil 
Was  once  volcanic — earthquakes  have  been  there — 
(Best  soil  for  vines)  cleaving  the  mountain  cliffs — 
The  spray  of  rushing  torrents  turns  to  stone 
All  things  that  grow  around,  and  every  leaf 
And  every  stem  seems  petrified  and  hard 
As  hardest  flint.     That  is  the  land  for  me! 
And  then,  what  noble  views  on  every  side ! 
The  broad  Campagna  stretching  to  the  verge 
Where  heaven  and  earth  unite !     What  aqueducts, 
On  airy  arches  proudly  marching  on, 
Convey  the  waters  of  the  Appenines 
Into  the  very  heart  of  dear  old  Rome! 
Old,  and  forever  young — and  beautiful 
Beyond  all  other  cities  of  the  earth ! 
There,  cataracts  shall  lull  me  into  sleep 


84  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

At  night,  and  into  dreams  of  battle-fields 

Long  hushed  and  dried — and  in  the  dead  of  noon 

I'll  oft  betake  me  to  the  temple-porch 

Of  Vesta,  and  whilst  virgins  pure  within 

Worship  the  sun-lamp  there,  which  ne'er  burns  dim, 

My  task  shall  be  with  swimming  eyes  to  gaze 

Upon  the  sun-lit  Capitol  afar 

Till  slumber  seals  their  lids. 

"Heigho!  these  days 

Of  lazy  peace  have  made  a  babbler  of  me. 
Time  was,  my  words  were  few — my  red  sword  spoke — 
My  tongue  wagged  little  then.    'Tis  changed — 'tis  changed. 
It  may  be  I  have  ta'en  a  drop  too  much. 
Ho!  boys,  move  round  my  eagle  to  the  front; 
He  has  not  breakfasted  to-day.     And  you, 
Ventidius,  ope  your  scrip  for  meat." 

Then  two  young  men,  who  bore  a  littered  cage. 
Wheeled  round  and  placed  it  deftly  on  the  ground; 
Whereat  the  grim  old  warrior  lifted  up 
A  curtain,  and  behold !  aroused  from  sleep, 
A  golden  eagle  screamed  and  stretched  his  wings. 

"Ha!  napping?     'Tis  no  wonder,  brave  old  friend. 
Too  long  the  curtains  of  thy  slumber  have 
Been  closed,  shutting  dear  sunlight  out.     Again 
Thou  canst,  unwinking,  gaze  on  Phoebus'  eye, 
And  wakened  look  around  thee.     E'en  the  bird 
Of  Jove,  the  poets  tell  us,  sometimes  droops 
His  flagging  wings,  and  shuts  his  fiery  eyes, 
When  the  sweet  Muses  sing.     Has  sleepy  peace 
Dulled  thy  once  valiant  spirit,  noble  bird, 
Making  thee  quite  forget  the  mountain  crag 
Where  thou  wast  born,  and  whence  I  stole  thee  one 
Bright  summer  morn,  the  whilst  thy  winged  parents 
Were  circling  far  away  in  .quest  of  prey  ? 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  85 

My  constant  playmate  hast  thou  been  since  then, 
And  ever  shalt  be.     Thou  shalt  go  with  me, 
And  live  again  among  the  Appenines, 
And  scream  among  the  foaming  waterfalls, 
The  whilst,  instead  of  human  limbs,  I  lop 
The  limbs  of  vines,  and  range  my  ranks  in  form 
Of  quincunx,  deeming  them  my  soldiers.     Ha! 
A  merry  time  we  two  shall  have  together. 
But  come,  Ventidius,  feel  into  thy  bag, 
And  give  my  eagle  meat." 

Ventidius 

Obeyed.     The  master  tossed  the  meat  into 
The  opened  cage,  and  as  the  ravenous  bird, 
With  hooked  beak  and  rending  talons,  fed 
On  the  raw  flesh,  and  gorged  himself  full  fast, 
The  veteran  soldier,  looking  on  well  pleased, 
Now  grimly  smiled,  now  burst  into  a  laugh, 
To  mark  how  well  his  feathered  friend  did  feast. 
Ventidius  also  laughed,  and  all  the  rest. 
In  sooth,  it  was  a  curious  spectacle, 
To  watch  by  turns  the  man  and  the  fierce  bird, 
And  note  the  ways  of  each. 

"A  Roman  scene," 

The  angel  said  in  accents  low,  but  sweet, 
Whilst  a  deep  pallor  blanched  the  Virgin's  cheek, 
And  saintly  Joseph  looked  with  wonder  on, 
"A  Roman  scene,  which,  painted  to  the  life, 
Would  make  a  striking  picture.     That  strange  man 
Has  breathed  the  breath  of  contest  all  his  life; 
In  more  than  six  score  battles  he  has  fought; 
Full  forty  wounds  (and  all  received  in  front) 
Might  by  their  scars  be  traced  upon  his  limbs; 
And  though  he  might  have  risen  to  high  command, 
He  has  from  choice  remained  centurion, 


86  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Preferring  to  be  valued  for  his  deeds, 

More  than  for  titles  and  promotions  high. 

Mark  his  bold,  aquiline  nose,  his  brasvny  chest, 

His  strong  limbs  cast  in  bronze.     Around  him  stand 

Six  youths,  with  pikestaffs  void  of  iron  points, 

On  which  are  hung,  suspended  by  fine  cords, 

More  than  a  score  of  crowns,  which  he  has  won 

By  valor,  some  for  saving  life,  and  some 

For  spilling  blood  like  water — civic  crowns, 

Crowns  mural,  naval — various  in  their  forms — 

Of  woven  oak-bows  some,  some  shaped  like  towers, 

Some  like  the  beaks  of  ships — all  beautiful. 

Not  only  these,  but  chains  of  wreathed  gold, 

Horse-trapping,  golden  bracelets,  silken  flags 

(You  see  them  hanging  on  the  pikestaffs),  tell 

Stronger  than  language  what  his  deeds  have  been 

In  every  possible  form  of  soldiering, 

By  sea  and  land,  on  horseback  and  on  foot. 

For  all  his  valiant  deeds  and  brave  exploits, 

The  soldiers  call  him  Victor.     See,  the  bird 

Has  finished  his  repast,  and  looks  around 

Less  fiercely.     Now,  his  master  opes  the  cage, 

And  takes  him  on  his  lap  and  fondles  him. 

See  how  he  smooths  his  plumes,  and  pats  his  breast, 

And  gently  fingering  his  haughty  neck, 

Covers  his  fiery  eyeballs  from  the  light — 

All  which  the  proud  bird  surfers  patiently, 

For  well  he  knows  the  hand  that  feeds  him." 

Then 

It  happened  that  among  the  bystanders 
There  was  a  pair  of  lads,  not  yet  of  age 
To  don  the  manly  toga.     They  had  come 
From  Rome  to  Athens  to  pursue  their  studies, 
And  thence,  impelled  by  curiosity, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  87 

Had  journeyed  on  to  view  the  far  Levant. 

They,  proud  of  their  supposed  proficiency 

In  the  most  musical  language  of  the  earth, 

Kept  up  a  chatting  in  that  heavenly  tongue, 

Like  two  young  birds  in  spring.     Long  robes  of  white, 

Bordered  with  purple,  draped  their  graceful  forms; 

Their  clustering  locks  were  moist  with  fragrant  oils, 

And  garlands  of  verbena  crowned  their  heads. 

Now,  whilst  old  Victor,  in  his  mirthful  mood, 

Was  sporting  with  his  feathered  playfellow, 

Handling  his  crooked  claws  and  stroking  them, 

One  of  the  young  patricians  sauntered  up 

And  laid  his  girl-soft  hand  upon  the  bird; 

Whereat  the  plumy  monarch,  anger-smit, 

With  his  curved  talon  struck  him  such  a  blow, 

That  his  fine,  graceful  robe  was  discomposed, 

And  a  few  drops  of  rich  patrician  blood 

Spotted  his  snowy  garment.     Loud  the  laugh 

Which  then  went  circling  round  the  merry  group. 

Old  Victor,  with  an  inward  peal  of  mirth, 

Shook  through  his  warrior  bulk,  and  cried  aloud : 

"A  home-made  thunderbolt."     The  lad  himself 

Blushed — winced — and  strove  in  vain  to  laugh — 

And,  heedless  now  of  his  sonorous  Greek, 

Stammered  some  words  in  Latin.     "  By  great  Jove," 

Said  Victor,  caging  his  fierce  bird  (and  as 

He  fixed  the  fastenings  of  the  cage's  door, 

He  talked  now  to  himself,  now  to  the  bird), 

"  By  Jove,  thou  hast  brought  him  to  his  mother-tongue. 

Well  done,  old  thunder-dog.     Hast  scratched  him  well. 

'Twas  all  because  he  spoke  such  pretty  words 

In  Greek.     Time  was  when  our  forefathers  thought 

Our  native  language  was  quite  good  enough 

To  pray  the  gods  with,  or  to  curse  our  enemies. 


88  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Now,  our  youth  flock  to  Athens.     All  for  words — 

For  words?     Hey!  blows  are  better;  not  so,  pet?" 

Then,  turning  to  the  lad  that  had  been  scratched: 

"  My  friend,  you  must  excuse  him  for  this  once. 

From  beak  to  claw  he  is  a  Roman  bird — 

And  loves  the  sight  of  blood.     Your  hand,  Ventidius, 

I  am  not  quite  as  active  as  I  was. 

'Tis  not  so  much  old  age,  as  that  cursed  wound 

Received  upon  my  thigh  at  Actium." 

And  when  Ventidius  aided  him  to  rise, 
He  first  was  quite  unsteady  on  his  legs, 
And  wreathed  like  one  in  pain.     "  'Tis  over  now. 
These  ancient  wounds  do  sometimes  ache  afresh, 
Reminding  us  of  victories  long  since  won. 
Whew!  there  it  comes  again,  but  not  so  bad. 
These  twinges  make  me  scream  at  times — 'tis  past. 
Hark!" — and  with  sudden  start,  like  one  who  hears 
An  unexpected  sound,  and  with  curved  hand 
Behind  his  ear,  much  moved,  he  cried  again: 
"Hark!  to  an  eagle  screaming  up  in  heaven, 
Too  high  for  sight,  almost  too  high  for  ear — 
Still,  I  can  hear  it  faintly." 

All  around 

Listened  their  utmost,  but  to  no  effect; 
When,  lo!  the  caged-up  eagle,  with  a  bound, 
Breast-forward  plunged  against  his  prison-bars, 
Streaming  and  tearing  with  his  curvate  claws, 
And  gazing  upwards,  with  an  eye  all  fire, 
As  though  he  wished  to  say:  "O,  let  me  loose! 
O,  let  me  join  my  kinsman  screaming  there, 
Or  I  will  dash  my  life  out!" 

Victor  wiped 

A  tear  that  trickled  down  his  cheek  of  bronze, 
Then,  turning  to  the  bearers  of  the  cage, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  89 

He  said,  in  tones  more  mellowed  than  his  wont, 
"  It  was  too  much  for  him.     The  bird  is  mad. 
This  is  the  second  time  I've  seen  him  thus. 
Cover  his  cage,  I  say.     When  in  the  dark, 
He  will  forget  his  frenzy.     Cover  him." 

The  boys  then  drew  the  curtains  o'er  the  cage, 
But  still  could  hear  him  tossing  to  and  fro, 
Frantic  and  restless  still  from  time  to  time, 
Until  the  darkness  and  the  prison-bars, 
As  oft  has  happened  to  a  man  immured, 
With  the  dull  pressure  of  their  iron  weight, 
Cowed  down  his  sky-born  spirit. 

Pause  we  now 

A  moment  to  behold,  in  swift  review, 
Some  salient  points  in  Victor's  martial  life. 


CANTO  VIII. 

VICTOR,    THE    RESCUER. 

§ORN  within  ken  of  the  Calabrian  coast, 
His  boyish  days  where  mainly  spent  at  sea, 
Where  his  rude  father  was  a  fisherman. 
There,  with  the  changing  tides,  the  tumbling  waves 
Impart  a  show  of  motion  to  the  rocks, 
Causing  these  last  to  fluctuate  to  the  eye 
As  though  they  were  astir  and  animate. 
This,  in  connection  with  the  echoing  surf, 
Gave  birth  to  many  fables.     Scylla  here, 
With  all  her  yelping  dogs,  was  heard  to  bark, 
Opposed  to  fierce  Charybdis. 
Here  dolphins,  seadogs,  swordfish,  cut  the  waves 
In  never-lessening  numbers.     From  the  wave 


90  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

And  from  the  shore  his  eye  might  often  scan 

^Etna,  to  all  appearance  poised  in  air, 

Tall,  hanging  with  his  white  top  o'er  the  haze, 

Spouting  forth  streams  of  fire.    The  neighboring  shores 

Have  ever  been  volcanic.     Victor  here 

Received  his  first  impressions  of  the  world. 

Midst  earthquakes,  whirlpools,  lava-floods,  and  storms, 

The  muscles  of  the  boy  were  firmly  knit, 

And  his  young  eye  inured  to  danger. 

Once, 

When  a  dread  earthquake  shook  the  aguish  land, 
And  all  the  villagers  fled  to  the  beach, 
Embarking  (all  that  could)  within  their  boats, 
A  loosened  mountain  tumbled  in  the  sea, 
And  by  its  fall  raised  such  a  heaven-high  wave, 
That  all  on  shore,  and  all  in  tossing  skiffs, 
Were  swallowed  up  and  lost — he  only  saved. 
A  surge  had  swept  him  to  a  towering  bluff, 
And  left  him  there  benumbed,  but  still  alive. 
This  was  his  first  escape;  how  many  more 
He  made  in  after  life  'twere  hard  to  tell, 
Until  at  last  he  looked  upon  himself 
As  danger-proof — case-hardened  against  death. 
,  Early  he  joined  the  mighty  Caesar's  army, 
And  was  as  dear  to  that  great  general 
As  his  own  eagle  is  to  him.     Three  times 
Has  he  a  Roman  rescued  from  the  wave, 
Thanks  to  his  early  swimming  and  strong  thews, 
And  still  more  to  his  dauntless  hardihood. 
Once,  when  a  lofty  palace  was  ablaze, 
And  flames  'gan  creep  up  all  the  crackling  stairs, 
He  mounted  thought-quick  to  an  upper  room, 
And  bore  a  fainting  lady  safely  thence, 
But  little  scathed  himself — she  quite  unharmed — 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  91 

A  valiant  feat,  which  gained  him  stores  of  gold, 
Yon  civic  crown,  and  richer  meed  of  praise. 

All  this,  in  fewer  and  in  simpler  words, 
Was  told  to  Joseph  by  the  angelic  guide, 
Who  still  was  speaking,  when  a  messenger, 
With  silver  wand  in  hand,  was  seen  approaching 
From  the  pavilion  of  the  general, 
And  after  having  bowed  with  deep  respect, 
Invited  Victor,  in  the  general's  name, 
To  join  the  merry  revelers  gathered  there. 

He  went,  accompanied  by  all  his  suite, 
By  all  the  well-earned  laurels  of  his  life, 
His  crowns,  his  golden  chains,  his  flags,  his  scars, 
And  when  he  reached  the  tent,  a  shout  uprang, 
W'hich  swallowed  all  the  noises  of  the  camp, 
And  thrilled  the  veteran's  eagle-heart  with  joy. 
All,  standing,  drank  his  health.     Then  in  the  midst, 
When  he  was  seated,  quick  they  made  him  tell 
The  story  of  each  civic  crown — how  won, 
What  precious  life,  in  winning  it,  he  had  saved, 
With  every  circumstance  of  time  and  place, 
And  what  the  mighty  Julius  said  of  it, 
And  how  the  mighty  Julius  looked  the  while. 

The  Angel,  as  he  gazed  and  listened,  smiled, 
As  smiles  some  youth  of  genius,  if  by  chance, 
The  whilst  he  treads  aspirant  up  to  fame, 
He  spies  beside  his  pathway  boys  at  play 
With  top  or  marbles,  shouting  loud  for  joy. 
Thus  smiling,  sweetly  then  the  Angel  said: 

"  Behold  a  savior  of  the  warrior-type ! 
Hark  their  victorious  shouts !     Both  for  blood  spilt 
And  for  blood  rescued,  they  salute  him  thus, 
And  do  him  reverence,  even  in  their  cups. 
If  such  an  one — half  eagle  and  half  man — 


92  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Who  in  his  loftiest  actions,  noblest  words, 
Still  shows  some  marks  of  native  savagery, 
Still,  'neath  his  golden  plumes,  displays  his  talons, 
If  such  an  one,  for  some  few  dozen  saved, 
Can  win  all  hearts,  all  smiles  of  high  and  low, 
How  shall  it  be  when  the  true  Savior  comes, 
Godlike  and  Lamblike,  to  redeem  a  world  ?" 

At  these  soft  words  the  Virgin  pressed  her  Child 
With  such  sweet  pressure  as  young  mothers  use 
When  thoughts  of  coming  glories  swell  their  souls. 
Such  in  its  kind,  but  not  such  in  degree, 
Her  mother-heart,  immaculately  pure, 
Felt  the  warm  heart-beats  of  the  Infant  God, 
As  feels  a  bud  unblown  in  early  spring 
The  Daystar's  pulsing  rays,  and,  inward  warmed, 
Stores  richer  odors  for  the  blossoming. 

And  now  commenced  their  wandering  down  the  camp; 
And  soon  they  reached  a  spot,  where,  stored  for  use, 
Stood  military  engines  of  all  kinds 
Then  known  in  war.     Horrid  they  looked  in  rest, 
Like  thunderbolts  piled  up  in  sleeping  clouds 
Before  storm-chariots  roll.     A  shudder  ran 
Across  the  Virgin's  high-strung,  delicate  nerves, 
When  strong  imagination,  highly  wrought, 
Made  all  those  monsters  live  and  move  before  her, 
And  all  the  tumult  of  a  town  besieged 
Rose  lifelike  into  vision.     Now  she  saw 
The  catapult  discharge  its  hissing  darts, 
The  huge  balista  seemed  to  hurl  vast  rocks; 
Now  fire-balls  flash,  and  blazing  arrows  sweep, 
Like  falling  stars,  athwart  the  gloomy  sky; 
And  still  through  all,  with  never-ceasing  clash, 
Shock  after  shock,  like  earthquake,  she  could  hear 
The  battering-ram  at  work,  and  hear  the  crash 


The  Flight  into  E&>pt.  93 

Of  tumbling  battlements  and  cloven  walls, 
And  armies  tossing  in  tumultuous  fight. 

Between  the  upper  and  the  lower  camp 
There  was  an  ample  space,  where  flagstaff's  stood 
With  various  banners  waving  in  the  breeze; 
Banners  and  ensigns  with  devices  bright, 
And  fragrant  altars  garlanded  with  flowers, 
And  each  alive  with  sacrificial  flame. 
At  early  dawn  the  ritual  had  commenced, 
And  still  fat  steers  and  heifers  lined  the  way, 
Each  waiting  patiently  its  turn  to  move 
Before  the  reverend  pontiff;  ruminant 
Some  stood,  as  if  but  half-awake;  some  lowed; 
Some  shook  their  gilded  horns  as  if  in  sport; 
Some  pawed  the  earth,  and  strove  to  disarrange 
The  flowery  wreaths  and  fillets  that  adorned  them. 

With  curious  eye  and  meditative  mind 
Joseph  beheld  the  scene,  comparing  oft, 
And  oft  contrasting  what  he  now  observed 
With  what  he  oft  had  marked  on  Mount  Moriah. 
The  angel  read  his  soul,  and  briefly  thus 
Caused  a  small  tributary  stream  of  thought 
To  mingle  with  the  current  of  his  mind, 
Adding  some  wavelets  more,  and  tinting  it 
With  somewhat  richer  colors: 

"Sacrifice! 

How  universal  round  the  pious  earth ! 
In  peace  or  war,  in  happiness  or  woe, 
Man,  by  the  inborn  nature  of  his  soul, 
Soaring  in  thought  above  the  present  scene, 
Looks  up  to  higher  powers.     The  master  of 
The  earth  acknowledges  a  Master  o'er 
Himself.     To  Him  he  consecrates  a  part 
Of  what  sustains  his  life — part  of  the  plants— 


94  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Part  of  the  animals  that  own  his  sway — 

Part  of  the  bread — part  of  the  ruddy  wine. 

Nor  is  this  all  the  mystery  of  the  rite. 

This  single  act,  when  comprehended  well, 

Combines  within  itself  three  several  acts, 

Like  a  strong  braid  of  three  inwoven  strands. 

By  it  man  strives  to  thank  his  God  or  gods; 

By  it  he  strives  to  expiate  his  sins; 

By  it  propitiation  he  would  gain. 

In  these  three  points  the  Roman  and  the  Jew 

Both  think  and  feel  alike;  their  difference 

Consists  in  this — the  Hebrew  disbelieves 

All  other  gods  but  One — Him  only  serves; 

The  other  builds  himself  a  Pantheon, 

Where  twelve  superior  deities  abide, 

And  lesser  ones  by  scores.     Another  point: 

The  pious  Hebrew  ever  looks  beyond 

The  present  sacrifice,  and  sees  in  it 

But  a  faint  type  of  one  that  is  to  come, 

By  whose  pure  blood  mankind  shall  be  redeemed 

And  all  the  nations  sanctified  and  saved." 

Whilst  thus  the  angelic  messenger  discoursed, 
The  priest,  all  clothed  in  robes  of  spotless  white, 
Went  through  an  antique  ritual,  handed  down 
From  the  Etruscans  and  from  those  that  lived 
Before  the  days  of  pious  Numa.     First, 
He  sprinkled  on  the  victim's  hirsute  front 
Frankincense,  meal,  and  salt;  next,  holding  up 
A  golden  vessel  filled  with  choicest  wine, 
He  touched  the  precious  liquid  to  his  lips, 
Then  poured  it  out  between  her  gilded  horns; 
And,  lastly,  having  plucked  some  tufts  of  hair 
From  off  her  forehead,  cast  them  in  the  flames 
To  crackle  and  consume.     And  all  the  while, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  95 

Standing  in  gay  clad  bands,  on  either  side, 
Loud  played  the  ha'rpers,  loud  the  pipers  piped; 
And  loud  the  snow-white  heifer,  decked  with  flowers, 
Lowed  to  her  sister  heifers  not  yet  slain. 

The  victim,  then,  with  all  her  garlands  on, 
With  all  her  young  life  pulsing  through  her  veins, 
Was  led  away  to  where  some  butcher-priests 
Stood  ready,  with  their  instruments  of  death, 
To  do  the  deed  of  slaughter.     Down  she  fell, 
Her  life-blood  oozing  out.     Soon,  other  priests, 
With  keen  inspection,  in  her  entrails  pryed 
To  read  therefrom  the  future. 

"  Pitiful/" 

Then  said  the  angel  in  a  mournful  tone, 
"Most  pitiful,  that  all  the  fairest  things 
Of  this  low  world  so  soon  do  grow  corrupt. 
The  altars  pure,  which  white  religion  rears, 
Ere  long  become  the  dwelling-place  of  snakes. 
The  beautiful  trees,  which  piety  planted  once, 
The  incense-blossom'd  trees,  the  fragrant-bark'd, 
The  ever-flowering  trees  that  angels  love, 
Trees  which  once  waved  in  Eden  ere  man's  fall, 
These  all  have  shrunk  and  withered  long  ago, 
Part  shriveled  by  foul  superstition's  breath, 
Part  girdled  (use  we  here  the  woodman's  phrase) 
By  cunning  priests  intent  on  selfish  ends, 
Who  after  cut  them  down,  to  build  therewith 
Abominable  altars  of  false  faith!" 

Again  commenced  their  wanderings  through  the  camp; 
Some  tents  they  passed  where  soldiers  played  at  dice, 
Or  moved  their  mimic  warriors  o'er  the  board. 
Their  very  sports  and  pastimes  smacked  of  war. 
Some  were  tatooing  pictures  on  their  limbs, 
Eagles  or  lions  or  the  beaks  of  ships; 


96  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

/ 

Here  some  were  pitching  quoits,  some  tossing  bars, 

There  others  practiced  games  of  archery; 

Some  raced;  some  wrestled;  some,  with  blunted  swords, 

Were  striving  who  could  thrust  and  parry  best; 

Some  sported  with  their  dogs;  some  fitted  gaffs 

To  their  game-cocks,  and  urged  them  on  to  war. 

The  scene  was  ever  shifting — ever  gay. 

But  mark  where,  in  the  center  of  yon  square, 
Encircled  on  four  sides  by  warlike  tents, 
And  decked  by  four  times  four  emblazoned  flags, 
Two  gallant  youths,  each  armed  from  head  to  toe, 
Are  dancing,  to  the  music  of  a  flute, 
The  antique  dance,  which,  fabling  poets  tell, 
Was  framed  by  Pallas,  when  the  Titan  war 
Was  ended,  and  she  leaped  before  her  sire 
In  all  her  ringing  panoply  superb. 
What  mazy  figures  of  advance,  retreat, 
Of  onset  fierce,  and  sight-confounding  flight, 
All  regulated  by  sweet  music's  dulcet  tongue, 
As  though  a  cherub,  with  soft  silken  cords, 
Should  hold  two  ramping  lions  in  his  leash, 
And,  smiling,  guide  their  motions.     Mark  the  flash 
Of  gleaming  sword-blades  quivering  high  in  air, 
Like  lightning  viewed  through  sunshine.    Hark!  the  clang 
And  clash  of  steel  on  buckler  ringing.     On  one  knee, 
Like  dying  gladiator,  now  one  sinks 
As  if  exhausted,  whilst  soft  flute-notes  sob 
In  pitying  requiem  o'er  him;  now  erect, 
With  clamor  on  they  rush,  and  frantic  strokes, 
Whilst  ever,  'midst  the  whirlwind  and  the  din 
Of  combat,  modulated  forms  prevail; 
And  evolutions  shaped  by  music's  power, 
And  grace  of  motion,  and  the  charm  of  rhythm, 
Commingle  their  enchantment.     Beautiful 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  97 

It  was  to  look  upon,  and  e'en  their  guide 

Smiled  with  a  rosier  glow, 

And  as  they  turned,  thus  spake  he  in  sweet  words: 

"Truly  a  warlike  people  see  we  here. 
War  colors  all  they  do  and  all  they  say. 
This  purple  thread  runs  through  their  robe  of  life, 
With  red  embroidery  pictured  o'er  and  o'er. 
The  Roman  bride,  preparing  for  the  rites 
Of  Hymen,  has  her  locks  divided 
By  a  sharp  spear's  point;  that  she  may  remember 
To  what  a  valiant  husband  she  belongs. 
The  matron,  yearly,  on  appointed  days, 
With  all  her  married  compeers,  keeps  a  feast 
Sacred  to  Mars,  and  begs,  with  votive  flowers, 
The  boon  of  a  brave  offspring;  and  when  death 
Consigns  some  noble  mother  to  the  urn, 
In  honor  of  her  well-spent  life  are  held 
Funereal  games,  where  swordsmen,  with  drawn  blades, 
Fight  to  the  death,  and  gladiators  die." 


CANTO  IX. 

THE  EAGLE  AND  THE  DOVE. 

tND  now,  still  wandering  on,  they  came  anear 
The  quarter  where  the  cavalry  were  camped, 
And,  threading  downwards  through  a  narrow  street, 
Lined  on  each  side  with  tents,  they  saw  a  band 
Of  horsemen,  three  abreast,  come  riding  on 
Full  tilt  towards  them.     Fearful  was  their  speed, 
Jocund  their  shouts,  for  they  were  young  and  gay, 
And  had  been  drinking  to  Augustus'  health. 
Quicker  than  thought  the  angel  saw  it  all, 


98  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Saw  it  and  formed  his  plan.     By  force  of  will, 
Part  of  the  vapor  which  encompassed  them 
Grew  solid  lightning-swift  beneath  their  feet, 
And  buoyant  bore  them  upwards.     Up — still  up — 
They  rose  so  gently  smooth  and  yet  so  fast, 
That  the  mad  horsemen  swept  beneath  their  feet, 
So  that  the  crystal  floor,  on  which  they  stood, 
Floated  aloft,  untouched  by  topmost  plume. 

And,  ever  as  they  rose,  the  angel  sang; 
And,  ever  as  he  sang,  they  higher  rose; 
And,  ever  as  they  higher  rose,  the  camp 
Grew  smaller  in  appearance  underneath. 

It  was  a  song  most  low,  yet  most  distinct. 
Now,  fugue-like,  soaring  up  in  chasing  notes, 
Now  lapsing  slope-wise  downwards — sweet  and  low, 
And  all  unlike  all  music  heard  by  men; 
For  it  came  thrilling  from  an  angel's  heart, 
And  passed,  swift-thrilling,  through  two  human  hearts, 
And  through  a  third,  both  human  and  divine. 
And  as  it  rose,  they  rose,  sank  as  it  sank, 
Waving  in  curves  and  circles  round  the  sky. 
On  one  side  of  the  camp  arose  a  hill, 
On  which  an  oriental  plane-tree  stood, 
Antique  and  huge  in  size.     The  hollow  trunk, 
Wide  and  capacious,  could  with  ease  have  served 
As  shelter  to  a  score  of  living  men, 
Each  man  in  armor  standing  by  his  horse. 
Thither  the  angel  lighted  with  his  freight, 
So  softly  that  they  felt  no  jolt  nor  jar; 
When  straight  the  magic  vapor  was  transformed 
From  solid  and  from  gaseous  to  the  form 
Of  a  clear  liquid.     This  the  angel  gave, 
Encased  in  a  thin  golden  vial,  to 
The  Blessed  Virgin,  telling  her  to  keep  it 
With  care  about  her  person. 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  99 

"  A  few  drops," 

He  said,  "  if  sprinkled  on  the  brow  or  lips 
Of  man  or  woman  fainting,  will  revive  them. 
And  in  your  wanderings  over  desert  sands, 
And  in  the  various  perils  of  the  way, 
Who  knows  but  you  may  need  it." 

Bowing  low, 

With  graceful  inclination  of  the  head, 
The  Virgin  took  the  vial  from  the  angel, 
And  gently  placed  it  in  a  silken  bag 
Which  hung  upon  her  girdle. 

Hark!     Above! 

A  clap  of  thunder,  in  a  cloudless  sky, 
Pealing  o'er  heaven's  blue  vault!     Nor  was  this  all: 
Flutter  of  wings;  and  lo!  a  snow-white  dove, 
Whose  plumage  had  been  somewhat  discomposed, 
Fell  downwards  from  a  flying  eagle's  clutch. 
Half-dead  it  seemed  with  fright,  and  somewhat  torn 
By  the  fierce  war-bird's  talons;  soon  'twas  seen, 
With  panting  heart,  to  nestle  timidly, 
Full  in  the  Savior's  bosom.     With  sweet  words 
Of  pity,  mixed  with  dropping  tears,  He  took 
The  fluttering  bird  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips, 
And  smoothed  its  ruffled  plumage  'gainst  his  breast, 
And  wept,  and  smiled,  and  kissed  it  o'er  and  o'er, 
Caressing  it  with  mingled  sobs  and  laughs. 
Afar  the  eagle  flew — but  ere  it  sailed 
Beyond  the  scope  of  vision,  sudden  grew 
The  air  obscure — another  peal  was  heard — 
The  light  returned — and,  lo !  the  warrior-bird, 
As  if  transfixed  by  flashing  thunderbolt, 
Fell  from  the  sky  stone-dead.     With  pointing  hand, 
WThilst  this  was  passing  over  head,  the  angel 
Had  guided  Joseph's  and  the  Virgin's  sight, 
To  view  the  stricken  eagle. 


ioo  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

"Lo!  a  type 
Of  what  shall  happen  in  the  after-years !" 

And  then  he  took  the  white  dove  from  the  Child, 
Although  it  seemed  full  loath  to  leave  his  grasp, 
And,  pouring  from  a  vial  on  his  wings 
Some  drops  of  a  strange  pe.rfume  he  had  with  him, 
He  placed  the  sweet  bird  in  the  Virgin's  hands, 
Who,  straightway  knowing  what  the  angel  meant 
Without  the  use  of  words,  took  from  her  bag 
The  vessel  she  had  placed  there,  and  began 
To  sprinkle  all  its  wings,  and  bill,  and  eyes, 
Until  the  lovely  creature  quite  revived, 
Like  thing  new-called  to  life. 

And  all  the  while 

The  heaven-sweet  perfume  scented  all  the  air; 
And  the  bland  angel  took  the  immaculate  bird 
Softly  from  Mary's  hand,  and  loosing  it 
With  gentle  wafture  and  complacent  smile, 
"  Now  for  the  olive-groves,"  he  cried.     The  bird, 
All  fresh  of  wing  and  sleek  in  all  its  plumes, 
Upflew  the  air  exultant — circling  round 
In  many  an  airy  wheel  above  their  heads, 
The  whilst  the  Child,  supine  on  Mary's  lap, 
With  tiny  finger  traced  its  sphery  flight, 
Describing  cycle  and  elliptic  curve, 
And  moving  it  as  that  moved  in  the  sky. 

But  when  'twas  wafted  downwards,  up  He  rose 
Upon  his  mother's  lap  and  clapped  his  hands, 
And  looked  towards  a  distant  olive-grove 
To  which  the  winged  Whiteness  sailed  serene, 
Met  on  its  way  by  half  a  score  of  wings, 
Some  white,  some  red,  some  blue,  and  all  sense-charmed 
By  the  aroma  that  environed  it.* 

*  See  note  at  end  cf  volume. 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  101 

Within  the  plane-tree's  trunk  a  loophole  large 
Had  by  some  idle  hand  been  carved,  through  which, 
Unseen  themselves,  they  could  o'erlook  the  camp, 
Behold  its  stir,  and  hear  its  martial  din, 
A  sight  well  worth  the  gazing.     But,  as  yet, 
They  had  not  tasted  food;  the  heavenly  guide 
Knew  well  how  much  they  hungered;  then  he  clapped 
His  roseate  hands,  and  spake  some  unknown  words, 
And  straight  a  table,  spread  with  savory  food, 
Was  wafted  down,  self-poised.     How  sweet  they  feasted, 
And  with  what  grateful  hearts,  need  not  be  told. 
Some  moderate  sips  of  wine  they  also  quaffed, 
Wine  pressed  from  other  grapes  than  those  of  earth; 
It  came,  the  courteous  angel  told  them,  from 
The  sunny  vineyards  of  the  Morning  Star: 
And,  as  they  drank,  a  feeling  of  young  dawn, 
Although  the  midday  heats  were  on  the  earth, 
Came  over  them  with  sweetly  freshening  coolness. 

Finished  the  feast,  they  looked  again  to  camp, 
And  viewed  a  spectacle  of  martial  pomp, 
Such  as  but  seldom  meets  the  eye  of  one 
Who  does  not  follow  armies  all  his  life. 
It  was  a  mimic  battle,  all  complete, 
With  van  and  rear,  with  middle  host,  and  wings, 
With  horse  and  foot,  with  heavy-armed  and  light; 
Nor  wanted  waving  banner,  fluttering  plume, 
Nor  shout  of  onset,  or  the  clang  of  trump. 
Absorbed,  the  travelers  gazed  upon  the  scene 
With  breathless  interest,  and  with  varying  thoughts, 
Aye  striving,  from  the  mimic  show  before  them, 
To  realize,  in  all  its  vividness, 
What  war  itself  must  be.     At  last  it  closed, 
And,  looking  round — the  angel-guide  was  gone. 
Forlorn  they  felt,  at  first,  as  though  a  friend 


IO2 


The  Flight  into  Egypt. 


Had  left  them  standing  in  an  unknown  land 
To  grope  their  way  alone.     But  onwards  still 
Their  impulse  urged  them;  on  o'er  winding  paths 
And  tracts  but  little  trod;  for  much  they  feared 
To  meet  the  straggling  soldiers  on  their  way. 


BOOK  II. 

BORDERLAND. 


CANTO   I. 

YOUNG  ROMAN   SOLDIER. 

Ultima  Cumoei  venit  jam  carminis  aetas; 
Magnus  ab  integro  saeclorum  nascitur  ordo. 
Jam  redit  et  Virgo,  redeunt  Saturnia  regna; 
Jam  nova  progenies  coelo  demittitur  alto. 

Virgil,  EC.  IV. 

flX  furlongs  distant  from  the  camp,  their  path 
Wound  downwards  to  a  deep  and  shady  dell, 
Where  mossy  trees  arose  on  either  side, 
O'erarching  with  their  boughs  a  babbling  stream, 
Which,  rippling  under  roots  and  o'er  rough  stones, 
Made  music  sweet  and  soothing.     Turtle-doves 
Flew  to  and  fro  among  the  whispering  leaves, 
And  added  to  the  woodland  melody 
With  oft-repeated  cooings.     An  old  bridge, 
Of  rustic  structure,  stretched  from  one  steep  bank 
To  one  as  steep  upon  the  other  side, 
Thus  lifting  it  above  the  sweep  of  floods; 
And  having  stood  secure  for  many  years, 
'Twas  covered  o'er  with  moss — antique,  but  strong — 
And  offering  passage  firm  to  men  on  foot. 

Midway  upon  this  bridge  a  young  man  stood, 
With  roll  of  written  parchment  in  his  hand, 


J04  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

From  which  he  often  read  aloud.     The  youth 

Was  pale  and  thin,  like  one  who  recently 

Had  risen  from  bed  of  sickness.     Large  his  eyes, 

Nose  aquiline,  hair  long  and  curly.     Thus 

He  stood  in  meditative  mood  upon 

The  bridge,  and  read  and  gazed,  and  gazed  and  read, 

Like  one  wrapt  up  in  pleasing  phantasies. 

Sudden  he  heard  a  footstep  on  the  bridge 
Approaching,  whilst  behind  him,  up  the  stream, 
The  splash  of  hoofs  aroused  the  solitude 
Which  for  long  hours  had  hushed  the  quiet  scene. 
Startled  he  looked  around,  and  wondered  much 
What  travelers  these  might  be,  who  journeyed  thus, 
Bound,  as  it  seemed,  on  some  far  distant  tour. 
A  manly  form  he  viewed  upon  the  bridge, 
And  passing  o'er  the  stream  a  Lady  veiled 
Was  holding  in  her  arms  an  Infant  Child. 
With  courteous  inclination  of  the  head 
(Both  were  brimful  of  warm  benevolence 
And  of  all  kindly  feelings),  they  saluted 
Each  other  with  all-hails  and  benisons, 
As  if  each  felt  that  an  immortal  spirit 
(Immortal,  though  immured  in  fleshly  prison) 
Were  passing  by.     Oft  Joseph  turned  his  eyes 
Towards  the  beast  that  bore  his  treasured  loves, 
Lest  it  might  slide  upon  some  slippery  stone, 
Or  sink  in  hungry  sands.     But,  after  drinking, 
The  animal  moved  slowly,  safely  on, 
And  stood,  lamb-gentle,  on  the  other  side, 
Beneath  the  shelter  of  a  giant  oak. 
The  young  man  marked  his  fondly  anxious  looks, 
And  knew  from  the  expression  of  his  eyes, 
Where  then  were  sphered  the  loadstars  of  his  life, 
Attracting  him  with  more  than  human  love, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  105 

And  drawing  him  from  self  to  something  dearer. 
"Stranger,  hast  traveled  from  afar?"  he  asked. 
"  From  near  the  Holy  City." 

"  Whither  bound  ?  " 
"  To  the  far  land  of  Nile." 

"  Flying  from  danger, 
Or  with  intent  to  visit  kinsfolk  there  ?  " 
"  From  danger  flying — warned  by  heavenly  dream. 
I  may  not  tell  thee  further,  youthful  friend, 
Although  thy  open  looks  and  kindly  eyes 
Almost  persuade  me  to  relate  the  whole, 
And  tell  thee  many  things  so  new  and  strange, 
As  well  might  task  thy  faith.     What  scroll  is  that 
Thou  holdest  in  thy  hand  ?  " 

"  Some  written  words 
We,  of  the  Ausonian  land,  call  poesy; 
Thou  couldst  not  understand  them,  sire,  unless 
Thou  hadst  some  knowledge  of  the  Latin  tongue." 

"That  language  is  to  me  almost  unknown; 
But  how,  being  Roman,  hast  thou  learned  to  speak 
The  Aramean  ? " 

"  For  two  years  and  more 
I  lived  in  Palestine.     My  father  was 
A  questor  there,  and  when  my  mother  died, 
He  still  resided  in  Jerusalem, 
And  kept  me  living  with  him  till  his  death — 
Since  which  I've  been  a  soldier." 

"Thou  dost  seem 
Like  one  who  has  been  very  ill." 

"Ay,  ill, 

Well-nigh  to  death.     Nine  days  I  was  confined, 
The  last  three  wrapt  in  death-like,  lethal  swoon; 
Laid  out  all  ready  for  the  funeral  pyre, 
When  flickering  life,  which  almost  seemed  extinct, 


io6  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Returned.     I  rallied— slowly  gained  some  strength; 

But  still  unable  to  endure  the  toil 

Of  soldiership,  I  have  remained  perforce 

An  idler  in  the  camp. 

Of  late  I  have  been  visiting  this  glen, 

And  here  have  spent  some  pleasant,  thoughtful  hours, 

Soothed  by  the  coo  of  doves  and  voice  of  streams. 

Up  yonder,  in  the  hillside,  is  a  cave 

To  which  I  oft  retire  from  noonday  heat; 

Around  these  hills  are  winding,  shady  paths, 

And  quiet  nooks  are  here,  and  pulsing  founts; 

This  bridge — yon  stream — what  more  could  man  desire, 

Except  some  charming  work  of  poesy, 

Such  as  this  scroll  contains  ?" 

He  waved  the  scroll 

With  graceful  curve,  and  kissed  it,  showing  thus 
How  much  he  prized  the  precious  treasure. 

Much 

Was  Joseph  pleased  to  mark  the  young  man's  warmth, 
His  swimming,  dreamy  eyes  and  innocent  smile. 
And  the  pure  marble  pallor  df  his  cheek, 
As  though  some  work  of  sculpture  had  ta'en  life, 
And  the  fine  chiseled  stone  were  animate, 
And  now  held  parley  with  him.     Oft  it  seemed 
As  though  a  spirit  on  that  rustic  bridge 
Were  standing  near  him — some  pale  visitant 
From  death's  mysterious  realm,  with  scroll  in  hand, 
Containing  notice  of  an  unknown  world 
Beyond  the  grave.     Again  he  questioned  him 
In  gentle  words: 

"  The  poet's  name,  I  pray  thee, 
Inform  me,  and  the  subject  of  the  writing?" 
"  Virgilius  was  his  name — Virgilius  Maro. 
His  father  was  a  farmer,  and  their  farm 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  107 

Was  on  the  river  Mincius,  near  to  Mantua. 
There  was  the  poet  born — I've  seen  the  spot. 
My  father  also  owned  a  farm  hard  by 
Which  much  resembled  it — fine  pasture-land, 
Sloping  down  to  the  water  side — behind 
Were  craggy  rocks,  fit  haunt  for  climbing  goats. 
Around  the  homestead  beach-trees  stood,  and  elms 
O'ercanopied  with  vines;  and  in  the  garden, 
Through  which  a  tiny  brooklet  wound,  was  seen 
Rich  store  of  beehives,  ever  humming  sweet, 
And  lulling  you  to  slumber.     Wood-pigeons 
Kept  up  a  gentle  cooing  on  the  tree-tops; 
And  there  the  poet  spent  his  early  boyhood." 

"A  fitting  birthplace  for  a  poet,"  said 
Joseph,  in  answer.     "  Was  he  prophet,  too  ?" 

"  He  called  himself  a  prophet,"  spoke  the  youth, 
"As  prophet  most  men  look  upon  him  now. 
This  roll  contains  his  Pastorals — so  called; 
And  one  of  these,  addressed  to  Pollio, 
I  was  engaged  in  reading  when  you  came. 
I  wish,  sire,  you  could  read  it  for  yourself. 
Some  say  'tis  based  upon  a  prophecy, 
Which,  six  long  centuries  ago,  was  sung 
By  the  Cumsean  Sibyl  in  her  cave, 
In  which  is  mention  made,  in  mystic  verse, 
Of  what  shall  happen  in  the  aftertime: 
Of  an  Immaculate  Virgin,  who  shall  be 
The  Mother  of  a  Godlike  Child  divine, 
And  of  a  second  happy  Age  of  Gold; 
The  lion  then  shall  lie  down  with  the  lamb; 
The  child  shall  sport  uninjured  with  the  asp; 
The  fields  shall  yield  spontaneous  crops  of  grain; 
Sweet  flowers  shall  spring  where  brambles  grew  before; 
Dread  war  shall  cease,  and  universal  peace 


loS  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Bless  all  the  nations  all  around  the  earth. 
Sometimes  I  think  that  happy  time  will  soon 
Burst  on  the  world.     E'en  now,  e'en  now,  methinks 
Some  signs  proclaim  its  advent;  how  my  heart 
Dances  with  rapture  at  the  thrilling  thought!" 

And,  as  he  spoke,  his  sickly  cheek  was  tinged 
With  a  slight,  delicate  rose  of  faintest  red, 
Which  some  would  have  pronounced  the  rose  which  Death 
Oft  paints  on  cheeks  he  marks  to  be  his  own. 

Joseph  was  deeply  moved.     Was  it  not  strange, 
He  thought  (and,  thinking,  stranger  still  it  seemed), 
That  a  far  Pagan  poet  should  write  thus; 
Should  weave  in  Latin  verse  the  self-same  thoughts, 
The  same  ideal  types  and  images 
Used  by  inspired  Isaiah  ? 
And  who,  then,  could  those  mystic  Sibyls  be, 
Of  whom  he  had  heard  mention  more  than  once, 
But  always  dimly,  vaguely  ?     More  than  one, 
'Twas  said,  had  lived  and  prophesied  on  earth, 
In  Europe  and  in  Asia.     Even  then 
('T  was  faintly  whispered)  one  of  these  still  lived 
In  a  secluded  valley,  locked  and  barred 
From  all  the  world  by  gates  of  solid  rock, 
And  that  her  songs  still  breathed  of  truth  and  life, 
Though  centuries  had  passed  by  since  her  birth. 
These  thoughts  came  crowding  on  his  mind,  the  whilst 
That  young  man,  scroll  in  hand,  before  him  stood 
Upon  the  bridge,  wrapt  in  a  waking  dream. 
Then,  beckoning  him  to  follow,  on  he  passed, 
And  walked  towards  the  jewels  of  his  soul. 

Startled  by  hearing  footsteps  coming  near, 
Mary  turned  round  her  holy  head  to  look, 
When — quick  as  thought — the  Roman  caught  a  glimpse 
Of  the  most  heavenly  human  face  that  e'er 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  109 

Imagination  pictured  to  itself 

In  moments  of  the  deepest  ecstasy. 

'  T  was  but  a  moment's  vision.     Instantly 

Her  back  alone  was  seen;  she  fixed  her  veil, 

And  when  she  turned  again,  her  face  was  hid, 

Hidden  the  curve  of  neck,  the  arch  of  brow, 

The  sweet  and  innocent  mouth,  the  dimpled  chin, 

And,  O,  those  eyes!  all — all  were  masked  from  view; 

For,  though  the  eyes  could  still  be  dimly  seen, 

Like  overclouded  stars,  their  holy  rays 

Were  quite  obscured  and  dimmed.     The  pallid  youth, 

Slow  sauntering  by  the  man  of  middle  age, 

Came  up  in  wondering  admiration  wrapt, 

And  finding  thus  the  mother's  face  concealed, 

Gazed,  spell-bound,  on  the  Child. 

O,  who  can  tell 

What  a  sweet  influence,  never  felt  before, 
Those  holy  Infant  eyes  cast  on  his  soul ! 
Like  consecrated  altar-lamps,  were  they 
All  filled  with  holiest  oil  ?     O,  no,  no,  no. 
Too  tame,  too  tame!     Small  planetary  orbs, 
Reflecting  radiance  from  a  hidden  sun 
And  beaming  on  the  world  with  all  the  power 
Which  old  astrologers  once  dreamed  about? 
Too  weak,  too  faint!     Sun-rays  from  drops  of  dew 
In  summer  morn  reflected,  when  fair  flowers 
And  blossoming  branches  wave  within  the  breeze  ? 
All  too  inadequate,  too  faint,  too  dim ! 

Could  this,  then,  be  the  Infant  Wonderful, 
Of  whom  he  had  been  reading  on  the  bridge, 
The  Virgin  Mother  this,  so  long  foretold 
By  mystic  Sibyls  living  far  apart, 
Foretold  by  Hebrew  prophets,  holy  men 
(For  he  had  heard  some  rumors  of  their  works), 


no  The  Flight  into  Egvpt. 

And  was  the  Golden  Age  about  to  dawn, 
Which  the  great  Mantuan  poet  had  foresung  ? 
Had  not  the  peopled  earth  itself  become 
Prophetic  through  the  continents  and  isles  ? 
Were  not  strange  voices  borne  upon  the  winds, 
And  strange  oracular  meteors  seen  at  night  ? 

As  when  an  arm  of  the  sea,  which  winds  far  up 
Among  the  lonely  hills,  at  time  of  flood, 
Sucks  up  the  tidal  wave  through  all  its  turns, 
And  swells  and  pants,  and  fluctuates  with  the  heavings 
Of  the  huge  ocean-heart  of  all  the  world, 
Thus  through  that  young  man's  soul  went  billowing 
The  spiritual  influences  then 
Abroad  among  the  nations  of  the  earth. 
The  flow  of  his  emotions  was  too  high 
For  his  weak  health  to  bear.     First  overstrong 
He  felt  through  all  his  nerves  and  fibers — then 
Weak  and  aye  weaker — till  at  last  he  fell, 
Like  one  bereft  of  life,  upon  the  ground, 
And  lay  all  motionless  in  a  deep  swoon. 

Following  the  promptings  of  her  woman's  heart, 
Mary,  the  Blessed  One,  dismounted  quick, 
And  throwing  off  her  cumb'rous  veil,  began 
To  chafe  his  wrists  and  temples;  all  in  vain. 
He  moved  not — showed  no  signs  of  quickening  life. 
She  then  bethought  her  of  the  vial,  which 
The  angelic  guide  had  given  her,  that  same  day; 
And  how  't  had  cured  the  dove,  which,  sooth  to  say, 
Looked  not  more  innocent  or  whiter  than 
The  youth  who  lay  before  her  motionless. 

Like  raindrops  from  the  sky,  after  long  drouth, 
Upon  some  lovely  flower  which  droops  to  death, 
The  magic  liquid  exercised  its  charm; 
Then  Blessed  Mary  raised  her  hands  in  prayer — 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  in 

Her  hands — her  eyes — and  eke  her  dulcet  voice, 
And  begged  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 
To  save  the  young  man's  life,  and  raise  him  up 
From  his  death-swoon,  and  grant  him  health  again. 

Her  prayers  and  angel-sprinklings  did  their  work. 
Soon,  those  large  eyes,  like  planetary  stars, 
When  clouds  which  hid  them  have  been  swept  away, 
'Gan  shine  with  deepening  luster.     First,  from  far 
Their  beams  appeared  to  radiate — far  away — 
From  some  high  silvery  sphere  beyond  the  earth, 
As  if  their  light,  in  journeying  endless  space, 
Had  not  yet  reached  in  full  this  nether  globe, 
So  little  recognition  did  they  show. 
But  soon  their  human  beaming  came  to  them; 
And  when  he  was  aware  that  the  sweet  face, 
Which  hung  above  him  then  so  heavenly  fair, 
Was  the  same  lovely  visage  he  had  seen 
When  walking  from  the  bridge,  his  first  impulse 
Was  to  adore  and  worship.     But  he  scarce 
Had  uttered  half  a  sentence,  ere  her  brow, 
Before  so  sweetly  arched,  grew  blandly  stern; 
And  thus  she  spake,  in  accents  finely  tuned: 

"  Worship  not  me,  young  man,  I  humbly  pray  thee; 
I  am  a  human  being  like  thyself; 
Like  thine,  my  body  shall  one  day  become 
The  food  of  worms;  worship  not  me;  I  am 
A  passive  instrument  in  Higher  Hands; 
A  simple  handmaiden  before  my  God. 
That  Infant  thou  seest  sporting  on  the  ground, 
With  butterflies  around  him,  seems  to  me, 
Deep  musing  on  the  mysteries  of  heaven 
(Mysteries  too  vast  for  human  mind  to  grasp), 
A  blessed  dewdrop,  through  whose  tiny  orb 
God-sunbeams  are  refracted.     HE  who  made 


1 1 2  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Both  sun  and  dewdrop,  lives  in  that  small  CHILD, 
He  is  that  CHILD — pervades  unbounded  space — 
Is  ever  omnipresent — made  all  worlds — 
And  still  upholds  them — see  HIM  sporting  there — 
HIM  thou  mayest  worship;  more  I  dare  not  say. 
Farewell.     Tell  no  man  what  thou  hast  beheld 
To-day,  for  worse  than  bloodhounds  are  unleashed, 
Coursing  o'er  hill  and  valley,  field  and  town, 
Athirst  for  infant  blood.     With  God  I  leave  thee; 
Thy  health,  I'm  sure,  will  be  much  better  now; 
Conform  to  nature;  get  thee  wife  and  child; 
Brood  not  too  much  on 'fathomless  mysteries; 
Fulfill  the  daily  duties  of  thy  life, 
Wherever  these  may  lie,  in  camp  or  town, 
Or  country — ever  faithful,  ever  true — 
So  God,  in  time,  may  take  thee  to  Himself, 
And  we  may  meet  thee  in  a  better  world." 

Thus  speaking,  with  a  calmly  pitying  smile, 
Again  she  slowly  fixed  her  wonted  veil, 
Most  womanlike  in  every  act  and  speech, 
A  woman  of  the  purest,  loveliest  type, 
Without  one  touch  of  artifice  or  pride 
Or  affectation;  all  her  winsome  ways, 
And  all  her  graces,  seemed  pure  gifts  of  heaven. 

And  when  she  had  resumed  her  wonted  seat, 
The  foster-father  lifted  up  the  Child 
With  softest  care,  and  placed  him  in  her  lap, 
Arranging  everything  as  was  most  fit 
For  travel.     Then  the  young  man  to  the  Child 
Bowed  reverently,  and  said  a  fervent  prayer, 
And  kissed    the   young   Child's   feet   once — twice — yea, 

thrice, 

And  then  saluted  him  who  watched  the  Child, 
And  three  times  decorously  waved  his  hand 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  1 1 3 

To  her  who  bore  the  God-child  on  her  lap, 
Then  slowly  loitered  bridgeward,  often  turning 
To  view  the  Holy  Family  on  its  flight. 

From  that  day  forth  that  young  man's  health  grew  sound, 
All  tendency  to  swooning  disappeared; 
And  though  he  was  a  faithful  Roman  soldier, 
He  was  at  heart  a  guileless  Christian  too. 
Some  say  he  was  that  good  centurion, 
Whose  servant,  sick  to  death,  in  after  days, 
Was  cured  by  Christ,  our  ever-blessed  Lord, 
Because  the  servant's  master  had  such  faith. 


CANTO  II. 

HUNTERS'    RENDEZVOUS. 

gp  HEN,  as  in  wonted  wise  they  journeyed  on, 

^   The  Blessed  Virgin  thus  expressed  her  thoughts 

To  him  who  walked  beside  her: 

"What  I  did 

Before  we  left  the  Roman  youth,  might  seem, 
To  some,  indecorous  and  contrary 
To  the  established  customs  of  our  land. 
If  thou  dost  think  so,  tell  me  plainly  now, 
That  I  in  future  may  be  more  on  guard." 

Then  answered  Joseph  promptly:  "  Spotless  one, 
What  thou  didst  to  the  young  man  in  his  swoon, 
Both  at  the  time,  and  now  that  it  is  done, 
Seemed,  and  now  seems  to  me,  the  stainless  act 
Of  warm  benevolence  and  chanty, 
Acting  from  purest  motives.     Just  as  soon 
Would  I  cast  blame  upon  the  silver  moon, 
Who  oft  at  night,  as  if  in  pity,  throws  aside 
9 


1 1 4  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Her  veil  of  cloud  to  aid  some  wayfarer, 
Belated  in  the  woods,  and  foot-weary, 
And  almost  dead  with  toil." 

"It  gives  me  joy," 

Answered  the  Virgin,  "  thus  to  hear  thee  speak. 
I  am  no  prophetess,  but  I  believe 
(I  scarce  know  why  or  wherefore)  that  the  days 
Are  coming,  when,  in  other  lands, 
More  to  the  westward,  woman  shall  be  deemed 
Man's  helpmate  and  companion,  not  his  slave. 
Like  earth  and  moon,  each  in  its  separate  sphere, 
Shall  man  and  woman,  with  fair  offices 
Of  mutual  good,  but  different  in  kind, 
Help  and  irradiate  other — both,  and  each, 
Reflecting  light  drawn  from  a  mightier  power; 
And  each,  to  make  the  other's  course  more  bright, 
Turning  to  view  the  God-enlightened  side, 
Which,  th'  other  seeing,  may  believe  that  God, 
Thus  smiling  on  the  sky-companion,  smiles 
On  him  or  her.     Perhaps  I  have  not  made 
My  meaning  plain — but  I  believe  the  days 
Are  coming,  when  one  shall  mate  with  one,  like  doves, 
Communing  thus  by  pairs,  by  loving  twos, 
To  form  the  third,  the  children  of  their  love, 
And  all  combined  in  trinal  unity, 
For  succor,  comfort,  solace,  and  delight. 
Then  shall  our  cumbrous  veils  and  harem  walls 
Be  swept  away  like  things  beyond  the  flood; 
Then  inward  purity  and  innocent  thoughts 
Shall  shine  translucent  through  the  unveiled  face, 
Making  companionship  between  the  sexes 
Free,  guileless,  and  delicious." 

Joseph  smiled, 
And  gently  wiped  away  an  oozing  tear, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  115 

So  dewy-fresh  and  new  her  thoughts  appeared 
To  him,  who,  though  an  oriental  born, 
Was  ever  hoping  for  a  better  world ; 
And,  as  he  listened  to  her  musical  words, 
E'en  then  he  seemed  within  it.     Novelty, 
With  purity  and  innocence  combined, 
Fresh-bursting  ever  from  that  virgin  spring. 
Watered  his  manly  soul,  and  kept  it  green 
And  flowery  forever. 

On  they  went, 

By  any  road  or  footpath,  found  by  chance, 
Which  seemed  to  lead  south-east.     The  shadows,  by 
Their  length  and  their  direction,  served  as  guides, 
Both  as  to  time  and  bearing.     Ever  wilder 
Stretched  a  rough,  savage  country  on  before  them, 
With  mountain  piled  on  mountain,  towering  high. 
For  miles  they  moved  in  perfect  solitude, 
Or  only  passed  some  scattered  mountaineers 
Or  goatherds,  seated  in  the  shade,  the  whilst 
Their  flocks  hung  browsing  on  the  rocks.     At  last, 
They  saw  below  them,  in  a  mountain  vale, 
A  spectacle,  which,  suddenly  beheld, 
Excited  much  of  interest,  some  of  dread. 
A  rendezvous  of  hunters  it  appeared, 
Who,  by  their  aspect  and  apparel,  seemed 
A  band  of  Roman  soldiers.     Fair  the  scene 
And  beautiful  to  view  it  was,  in  sooth: 
An  emerald  meadow,  watered  by  a  stream, 
And  cooled  by  fanning  trees,  stretched  under  cliffs, 
Which,  rising  high  and  rugged,  fenced  it  round 
On  all  its  sides,  save  two.     Through  these  the  stream 
Flowed  in  and  out  with  graceful  curving  bends, 
Accompanied  by  ever-freshening  airs, 
Which,  sporting  with  the  foliage  and  the  flags, 


n6  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Imparted  gayety  to  all  around. 
A  fountain  gushing  from  a  rock  was  seen 
On  one  side,  and  round  this  was  grouped  a  score 
Or  more  of  jolly  huntsmen,  in  all  attitudes 
Of  frolic  or  repose — some  half-asleep 
In  the  long  grass;  some  drinking  with  loud  shouts; 
Some  cooling  in  the  fount  their  wine-flagons; 
Some  dancing  with  a  bevy  of  wild  girls, 
Perhaps  descendants  of  the  Moabites. 
About  a  bowshot  from  the  revelers 
Others  were  gathered  round  an  open  fire, 
With  hooks  and  forks  and  pans  and  butcher-knives, 
Cooking  the  various  game — a  busy  scene. 
Hove  then  in  sight  another  company, 
Through  the  north  valley-entrance  suddenly, 
Bearing  along,  as  products  of  their  sport, 
A  stag  with  branching  antlers,  a  wild  swine, 
A  swan  or  two,  and  other  smaller  game, 
All  piled  upon  a  broad-wheeled  creaking  wain, 
Drawn  by  two  milk-white  oxen.     Dogs  before 
And  dogs  behind;  some  with  long  sweeping  ears, 
And  some  with  ears  erect,  came  trooping  round. 
These  hunters  also  had  gay  maidens  with  them, 
Picked  up  among  the  hills  and  valleys  round; 
Some  dragged  unwilling  from  their  tents  and  huts, 
But  most  of  them,  by  voluntary  act, 
Following  the  soldiers  when  the  hunt  was  done. 
Half-bacchanal,  half-sylvan  was  the  group, 
Composed  of  men  and  women,  boys  and  dogs; 
Some  rode  on  mules,  and  some  on  dromedaries; 
On  asses  some,  and  some  crept  slow  on  foot. 
With  shouts  and  paeans,  those  around  the  fount 
Saluted  the  new-comers;  meeting  them 
With  cans  and  flasks  brimful  and  nicely  cooled, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  117 

And  begging  them  to  drink,  and  drown  all  care, 
For  this  was  Caesar's  birth-day. 

Louder  soon 

And  more  tumultuous  grew  their  boisterous  mirth, 
Gayer  the  song  and  livelier  the  dance; 
The  women,  like  Bacchanti,  tossed  in  air 
Their  uplift  arms,  and  loosed  their  waving  locks, 
Tripping  along  in  tipsy  jollity, 
Wine-cup  in  hand,  and  madness  on  the  brain, 
All  crying:  "Long  live  Caesar." 

The  path,  which  led  the  holy  travelers  on, 
Wound  round  the  brow  of  one  of  the  steep  heights 
Which  walled  the  valley  in  upon  the  left, 
And,  as  they  moved,  they  saw  the  drunken  scene 
In  all  its  shifting  frenzy.     Mary,  then, 
Pained  through  her  inmost  being,  cried:  "O,  haste, 
Hasten  to  leave  this  loathsome  spectacle, 
Which  shows  how  low  humanity  may  sink 
When  decency  and  virtue  lose  their  sway. 
The  very  air  seems  foul  with  unclean  spirits, 
And  though  the  world  is  all  ablaze  with  light, 
I  feel  like  one  who  treads  a  dreary  path 
At  night,  when  all  the  sky  is  black,  and  winds 
Are  howling— haste,  lest  evil  clemons  come 
And  plunge  us  down  the  cliffs." 

Then  Joseph  led, 

With  sturdy  hand  and  step,  the  beast  along, 
Hoping  to  pass  unseen  by  those  below, 
And  so  escape  their  notice.     JTwas  not  so; 
Upon  the  mead  a  group  of  stalwart  men 
Were  practicing,  just  then,  at  archery, 
Not  quite  a  bowshot  distant;  one  of  these 
(Of  coarse  and  satyr  visage  was  the  man, 
Full  of  lewd  jests  and  loathsome  thoughts  obscene., 


1 1 8  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Half-drunk  to  boot),  having  caught  sight  of  them, 
With  brutal  oath,  and  foul,  Silenus-sneer, 
Discharged  an  arrow  from  his  bended  bow 
Full  at  the  Virgin  Mother  and  her  Son. 

'Whizzing  the  arrow  sped — but,  ere  it  reached 
The  mark  intended,  sudden  from  its  path 
It  was  diverted  by  some  unseen  power, 
And  fell  all  harmless  on  the  ground  behind  them 
Some  sixty  paces  off.     The  man  turned  pale, 
For  he,  as  Roman  soldiers  always  were, 
Was  coarsely  superstitious,  weakly  so, 
And  knowing  what  a  demon  housed  in  his  heart, 
Thought  himself  thwarted  by  some  potent  spirit, 
Some  genius  of  good,  which,  in  the  end, 
Might  work  him  woe.     Down  fell  his  bow,  unstrung- 
He  tried  to  laugh,  but  laugh  he  could  not — a 
Sardonic  grin  convulsed  his  ugly  face, 
And,  to  avoid  the  sight  of  his  compeers, 
He  wandered  to  the  \voods,  like  one  possessed. 


CANTO  III. 

"  PAN   IS   DEAD." 

NWARDS  and  upwards,  then,  the  travelers  passed 
^9  Along  a  wilderness  of  mountain  land, 
Height  after  height  ascending.     Every  step 
The  way  grew  wilder  and  more  desolate. 
The  very  pines  and  cedars  shrunk  to  dwarfs 
With  stunted  stems,  and  crooked,  twisted  boughs, 
And  snake-like  creeping  roots,  that  strove  to  catch 
And  trip  the  feet  of  those  who  passed  that  way. 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  119 

Higher  and  higher  still!     At  last  they  reached 

A  spot,  which  seemed  the  loftiest  of  all 

The  neighbor  eminences;  hushed  as  death 

It  stood  beneath  a  sky  of  darkest  blue, 

Unvisited  by  any  sound  of  man 

Or  beast  or  bird.     Far  off,  in  distance  dim,  . 

A  little  west  of  north,  appeared  to  view 

Jerusalem's  temple,  stationed  on  its  height, 

Now  vanishing  to  nothing;  further  east 

The  Dead  Sea  glimmered  faintly  in  the  sun, 

With  Abarim  beyond  it,  peak  behind  peak; 

Southward,  far  stretching,  like  a  distant  sea, 

The  desert  faded  into  scarce-seen  blue; 

Mount  Hor  was  visible,  but  barely  so; 

Whilst  nearer,  and  beneath  them,  ridges  wild, 

Needles  of  rock,  and  jutting  mountain-horns, 

Rose  in  chaotic  grouping  all  around, 

With  here  and  there  a  black,  deep  mountain  glen, 

Which  seemed  to  cleave  earth's  center.     Moments  few 

The  travelers  passed  in  silence  on  that  spot, 

Feeling  as  if  cut  off  from  all  the  world, 

Severed  from  human  kind  and  voice  of  life, 

And  were  about  to  journey  on,  when,  lo ! 

The  flap  of  distant  wings— but  not  of  birds — 

The  sound  of  distant  song — but  not  of  men — 

Arresting  their  attention,  made  them  pause. 

Another  momentary  silence  hushed 

As  death !  and  then  a  sudden  symphony 

Of  instruments  celestial !     Then  was  heard, 

Sung  by  angelic  voices,  a  sweet  hymn, 

\Vhich  words  of  mine  can  faintly  shadow  forth, 

But  which,  in  substance,  sounded  somewhat  thus: 


120  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

HYMN    OF    THE    ANGELS    TO    THE    BLESSED    VIRGIN. 

Ave  Maria! 
From  pole  to  equator 
Through  every  latitude, 
With  praise  and  with  gratitude, 
In  full-souled  beatitude, 
Mankind  shall  sing  to  thee: 

Ave  Maria! 

Spotted  Sin  (how  we  hate  her), 
Cloven  Pan  and  each  Satyr 

Have  fled,  have  fled. 
O'er  land  and  o'er  ocean, 
In  all  its  vastity, 

The  whole  world  shall  ring  to  thee; 
Dove-eyed  Love  and  Devotion, 
And  white-pinioned  Chastity, 
And  high-toned  Emotion, 
Tenderly  fluttering,  sweet  pagans  uttering, 
Is  each  on  the  wing — on  the  wing  to  thee. 

Ave  Maria! 

O'er  the  isles,  o'er  the  continents, 
Voices  sweet  are  heard  singing  now, 

"  They  have  fled,  they  have  fled;" 
A  mystic  cry  (hark !)  is  heard  ringing  now, 
Heard  by  shepherds  and  fishermen: 
"  Pan  is  dead — Pan  is  dead;" 
Echoing,  echoing, 
Ever  re-echoed, 
"  Pan  is  dead, 
Pan  is  dead." 
Ave  Maria. 

Joseph,  though  little  skilled  in  Grecian  myths, 
Yet  comprehended  quick  the  mystic  words 
Echoing  above,  below,  and  all  around, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  \  2 1 

And  knew  within  his  heart  that  they  announced 

The  downfall  of  all  soul-corrupting  creeds 

Then  dominant  in  Greece  and  Italy, 

Those  master  nations  of  the  ancient  world. 

Thanks  to  Jehovah,  the  Almighty  One, 

These  all  were  down-fallen  now — down-stricken — dead. 

And  strange!  those  same  mysterious  words,  'tis  said, 
Were  heard  years  after  by  a  fisherman, 
Lone  rocking  in  his  solitary  boat 
In  the  Ionian  sea,  when — "Pan  is  dead," 
Came  swooning  from  afar  across  the  waves, 
Re-echoed  by  the  Acarnanian  shore 
And  the  Echinean  isles — "Great  Pan  is  dead;" 
Rumor  of  which  soon  after  having  reached 
The  ears  of  lewd  Tiberias,  all  his  court, 
All  his  astrologers  and  soothsayers, 
Unable  to  interpret  what  they  meant, 
Were  stricken  pale  with  fear. 

The  greatest  joy 

They  brought  to  Joseph,  who  straightway  announced 
Their  meaning  to  the  Lady  by  his  side, 
Who  likewise  testified  her  heartfelt  rapture. 
Then,  after  prayer  upon  that  mountain-top, 
They  ;gan  descend  full  swiftly,  for  his  eye, 
Well  skilled  in  weather-prophecy,  had  marked 
A  slender  bank  of  cloud  far  to  the  west, 
Which  seemed  but  newly  risen  from  the  sea, 
And  which,  he  thought,  attracted  by  the  mountains, 
Would  sweep  to  eastward,  burst  upon  their  peaks, 
And  end  in  sudden  tempest.     Down  they  sped, 
Rapid  as  their  sure-footed  beast  could  tread, 
Following  the  slender  pathway  over  rocks, 
And  rough  ravines,  and  forests  of  dwarf  pines, 
Mostly  in  silence,  for  the  need  was  great, 


122  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

And  great  the  skill  required  of  hand  and  foot. 
Thus  passed  almost  an  hour;  at  last  they  reached 
A  lower  range  of  mountains,  not  so  dead, 
But  clad  with  lofty  pines  and  evergreens, 
And  freshened  by  the  spray  of  waterfalls, 
And  here  and  there  enlivened  by  the  voice 
And  wing  of  bird. 

But  lo!  o'erhead  the  clouds 
Are  gathering  fearfully;  a  prelude  low, 
Of  muttering  thunder,  seems  to  growl — "Make  speed 
To  find  quick  shelter,  or  ye  may  be  lost;" 
The  winds,  before  asleep,  fierce  waken  now, 
And,  sounding  awfully  among  the  pines, 
In  unison  with  thunder,  seem  to  chant: 
"  Make  haste — seek  shelter  quick — ye  may  be  lost." 


CANTO  IV. 

THE   CAVE   OF   SEVEN   CEDARS. 

fHREE  bowshots  o'er  a  space  all  bare  of  trees 
They  passed  with  rapid  footfall,  when,  behold, 
A  cavern's  opening  mouth,  a  sheltering  cave ! 
Cave  of  the  Seven  Cedars  it  was  called. 
On  either  side  three  cedars,  one  on  top; 
All  fine  and  noble  trunks,  like  those  that  grow 
On  Lebanon.     Then  Joseph,  peeping  in 
The  grotto's  opening,  found  that  it  was  dim, 
Dimmer  than  evening  twilight  when  all  glow 
Has  left  the  horizon,  and  black  night  creeps  on; 
So  straightway  he  alit  in  haste  a  torch, 
Which  he,  before  the  journey,  had  prepared 
With  nicest  care,  and  kept  within  a  sack 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  123 

Slung  o'er  the  beast,  with  tinder-box  and  flint 
All  ready  for  quick  use.     The  torch  was  soon 
In  blaze,  and  soon  its  beams  displayed  to  view 
A  spacious  cavern,  snug  and  dry  and  warm, 
Which  seemed  to  open  into  other  rooms 
Reaching  far  inward. 

With  a  gradual  slope 
The  subterranean  floor  went  shelving  up, 
So  that  the  coming  floods,  however  fierce, 
Could  find  no  access  there.     A  limpid  stream, 
Whose  fountain-head  was  deep  within  the  mount, 
With  even  pulse  came  lapsing  down  the  rock, 
Unquickened  by  the  hurricane  without, 
Which  even  now  had  fallen  upon  the  woods, 
Clashing  their  tops  and  tearing  up  their  roots 
With  an  earth-rending  clamor.     Scarce  a  breeze, 
Scarce  a  side-eddy  entered  the  cave's  mouth, 
So  firmly  on  each  side  'twas  buttressed  round 
With  rocky  ramparts,  shielding  it  from  winds 
Which  swept,  wild  blustering,  from  the  opposite  point. 
There  all  was  calm  within.     A  fervid  prayer, 
Spontaneous,  heart-outgushing,  snowy-winged, 
Flew  through  the  tempest  up  to  God's  abode, 
And,  as  it  glided  through  the  golden  gates, 
The  angels  fanned  it  on  its  fragrant  way, 
And  seraphs  swung  their  censers  to  and  fro, 
To  waft  it  onwards  to  the  Father's  throne, 
Enwrapt  in  sweetest  perfume. 

Joseph  then 

Helped  the  Immaculate  Lady  to  dismount, 
And,  spreading  on  the  cavern's  floor  a  soft 
And  bright  embroidered  carpet,  in  whose  woof 
A  palm-tree  was  impictured  and  a  pair 
Of  white-winged  doves,  of  woven  work  superb, 


124  '    The  Flight  into  Egvpt. 

He  bade  her  rest  in  peace,  whilst  he  himself, 
Fixing-  his  flambeau  in  the  fissured  rock, 
So  that  its  glare  might  not  offend  her  eyes, 
Drew  from  his  pouch  a  nicely-written  scroll 
Of  well-preserved  papyrus,  and  began 
To  intone  its  holy  scripture. 

O,  how  grand 

That  antique  language  of  the  earliest  world, 
Whose  every  word  was  like  a  thing  alive, 
Instinct  with  many  meanings,  flashing  out 
Like  lightning  from  Jehovah's  chariot-wheels, 
And,  as  it  passed  into  the  listener's  brain, 
Arousing  there  old  echoes  which  once  pealed 
Among  the  hills  of  God — how  grand  and  full 
It  sounded  through  that  cave — from  manliest  lips 
Outpouring  like  a  jubilant  mountain  stream 
Full  fed  from  heaven-filled  waters!     How  each  pause, 
Each  cadenced  ending,  grandly  was  attuned, 
And  made  still  more  sonorous  by  the  plash 
Of  million-pattering  raindrops  heard  from  far, 
And  furious,  wailing  winds,  and  tumbling  cliffs, 
And  floods  down-roaring  to  the  dread  abysm, 
And  all  the  crash  and  turmoil  of  the  storm. 
And  ever  rose,  through  all,  "the  still,  small  voice," 
Which,  tremulous  and  plaintive,  oft  did  sound 
From  out  the  reader's  inmost  heart,  which  mixed 
With  all,  and  formed  the  base  of  all,  with  overflow 
Of  saintly  tears  soft  trickling  down  his  cheeks, 
And  dripping  on  the  holy  page  like  dew. 

His  lectern  was  a  shelf  of  caverned  rock; 
His  sounding-board  the  grotto's  fretted  vault; 
His  hassock  rugged  stone;  his  light  a  torch 
Such  as  a  traveler  fires  in  greatest  haste, 
When  storm  and  darkness,  furious  rushing  on, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  125 

Threaten  to  swallow  him  up;  his  listeners 
A  Holy  Virgin  and  more  Holy  Babe; 
The  winds  and  waters  loud  his  choristers, 
Answering  each  other  in  alternate  stave; 
His  Book  the  oldest,  holiest  in  the  world. 

And  such  a  reader!     Few,  we  know,  read  well. 
With  him  it  was  an  inborn,  heavenly  gift. 
The  whole  man  read;  tongue,  teeth,  throat,  palate,  lips, 
But  chiefly  heart  and  brain;  the  volumed  sound, 
In  rhythmic  sequence  following  wave  on  wave, 
Made  up  a  musical  current  so  complete, 
So  tunable  and  grateful  to  the  ear, 
That  she  who  listened  found  herself  enwrapt, 
Both  soothed  and  stirred,  excited  and  composed; 
Each  word,  each  syllable,  each  letter  even, 
Became  alive,  and  told  its  own  sweet  tale. 
For  manly  strength  combined  with  fluent  ease, 
For  compass  and  expressiveness  of  tone, 
For  sweetness  and  for  force,  his  reading  might 
Be  likened  to  that  wondrous  water-organ 
Renowned  of  old  in  Alexandria, 
Which  a  keen,  subtle-thoughted  brain  devised, 
And  hung  in  Zephyr's  temple;  by  strange  art, 
Currents  of  air  by  water's  force  were  driven 
Through  delicatest  tubes,  now  strong,  now  soft, 
So  cunningly  contrived,  so  nicely  fashioned, 
That  when  the  music  played,  it  seemed  as  though 
The  lofty  dome  were  mounting  in  mid-air, 
To  yield  a  prospect  of  that  loftier  one 
Reared  by  the  world's  great  Author;  so  it  seemed; 
And  many  a  traveler,  many  a  pilgrim  felt 
The  melody's  enchantment.     Thus  it  was 
With  Joseph's  wonderful  reading.* 

*  See  note, 


126  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Wrapt  away 

In  fancy  to  the  times  beyond  the  flood, 
And  lulled  into  a  sweet,  poetic  dream, 
Not  quite  asleep  as  yet,  nor  quite  awake, 
The  Virgin  gently  sank  into  a  state 
Of  pleasing  languor,  full  of  phantasy, 
Like  some  sweet  bird  upon  a  rocking  bough, 
After  the  time  of  sunset.     Deeper  down 
Into  the  realms  of  slumber  soon  she  lapsed, 
And  soon  her  beautiful  eyelids  veiled  her  eyes 
As  sunshine  veils  the  stars.     Much  had  she  seen, 
And  much  was  still  to  see  ere  close  of  day, 
And  nature  needed  some  repose  and  rest 
After  so  much  excitement.     By  her  side 
The  Almighty  Infant  slept  as  sweet  a  sleep 
As  did  the  roseate  mother. 

Still  the  storm 

Outside  swept  furious  o'er  the  mountain-tops, 
And  still  the  pious  reader,  wrapt,  absorbed, 
With  eyes  fixed  on  the  old  papyrus  scroll, 
Aroused  the  dead  words  on  the  antique  page, 
Making  them  start  to  life  and  melody. 
Turning  his  head  at  last,  he  bent  his  view 
Towards  the  load-stars  of  his  life.     Behold 
A  sight  of  terror ! 

Behold  a  monstrous  lion  crouching  there, 
As  if  in  act  to  spring.     Yea,  near  the  feet 
Of  the  two  sleepers!     Flying  from  the  storm, 
The  savage  beast  had  sought  a  shelter  there, 
His  tameless  nature  tamed  and  quite  subdued 
By  all-resistless  thunder.     Still  he  lay; 
Perhaps  he  meant  not,  couchant  though  he  was, 
To  make  the  fateful  spring;  quite  cowed  he  looked, 
And  overmastered  by  some  potent  spell 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  127 

Which  made  him  like  a  sculptured  lion  seem. 
Then  Joseph,  on  the  instant,  seized  his  torch, 
And,  moving  towards  the  monarch  of  the  woods, 
Full  in  his  eyes  he  shook  the  bickering  flame, 
And  roused  him  from  his  catlike  attitude.. 
One  moment  man  and  beast  glared  at  each  other — 
The  next — the  lion  wheeled  and  fled  the  cave, 
Swift-rushing  forth  into  the  maddening  storm, 
And  howling  down  the  mountains.     Hark  his  roar, 
Mixed  with  the  thunder's  voice  and  din  of  floods! 

Whilst  all  this  passed,  the  Holy  Lady  slept, 
Still  slept  the  God-born  Child.     In  sweetest  dreams 
She,  slumber-bound,  was  holding  converse  high 
With  seraphims  and  bright,  cherubic  shapes, 
'Midst  heavenly  plants  embowered,  beside  a  stream 
In  Paradise,  with  harpers  harping  round- 
Sleep  within  sleep  involved,  dream  wrapped  in  dream. 


CANTO  V. 

RENDEZVOUS   OF   ANGELS. 

§ARK,  from  the  far  back  chambers  of  the  cave, 
The  sound  of  harp  and  dulcimer  and  lyre 
Mixed  with  angelic  voices  floating  on, 
And  momently  approaching!     On  they  came, 
And  soon  appeared  in  view,  as  if  upsprung 
From  the  old  mountain's  inmost  heart;  with  smiles 
And  nods  they  moved  before  the  saintly  man, 
With  smiles  and  waving  hands;  fair  garlands  hung 
Above  their  arching  brows;  with  rhythmic  step, 
Half  dance,  half  leap,  with  graceful  speed  they  tripped, 
And  when  they  reached  the  spot  where  slept  the  Babe, 


128  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

All  dropped  with  one  accord  on  bended  knee, 
And  scattered  roses,  yellow,  white,  and  red, 
In  handfuls  at  his  feet.     Then,  through  the  cave's 
Rock-guarded  mouth  they  floated  gleeful  forth, 
Aye  sweetlier  chanting. 

Hark!  another  band 

Above  the  clouds  make  answer!     List  their  song! 
As  though  the  place  and  hour  had  been  prefixed 
By  mutual  appointment  there  to  meet. 
That  moment,  the  erst  furious  storm  grew  calm; 
Outburst  the  westering  sun;  far  rolled  away 
The  thunder  o'er  the  distant  mountain-peaks; 
Hushed  grew  the  winds;  God's  rainbow  spanned  the  east; 
Ten  thousand  raindrops  sparkled  on  the  trees, 
And  of  the  passed-by  tempest  naught  remained 
But  prostrate  trunks  and  toppled,  upturned  crags, 
And  loud-voiced  torrents  tumbling  cascade-wise 
From  rock  to  rock. 

"  Hosanna  to  the  Lord,"  rang  from  the  sky; 
"  Hosanna  to  the  Lord,"  from  the  cave's  mouth 
Resounded.     Joseph  then,  with  gentlest  touch, 
Wakened  the  Virgin,  chanting,  with  low  voice: 
"Arise,  arise!  the  tempest's  voice  has  ceased; 
Angels  are  waiting  at  the  cavern's  mouth; 
Angels  are  coming  from  above  the  clouds; 
The  rainbow's  arch  is  spanning  all  the  east; 
The  westering  sun  in  pomp  will  set  ere  long; 
Arise,  come  forth,  sweet  Mother  of  the  Lord, 
Lady  Immaculate!     Come  forth  and  see 
The  splendor,  and  the  beauty  and  the  glow, 
Now  doubly  pleasing  after  all  the  toil 
Of  our  long  wandering  through  the  Roman  camp, 
And  o'er  the  barren  mountains  beat  by  storms." 

The  Virgin  Mother  opened  soft  her  eyes, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  129 

And  smiled,  and  rose,  and  lifted  up  the  Child. 
Then  Joseph  quickly  quenched  the  burning  torch, 
Unjointed  it,  and  placed  it  in  the  sack, 
With  flint  and  tinder-box,  for  future  use; 
Relieved  the  Mother  of  the  Holy  Weight 
That  rested  in  her  arms,  and  soon  the  pair 
Stood  calmly  gazing  near  the  cavern's  mouth, 
He,  of  ripe  middle  age,  but  blooming  fresh, 
She,  blooming  with  the  bloom  of  maidenhood. 
Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  angelic  band, 
And  took  its  station  on  a  rosy  cloud 
Poised  overhead,  and  from  whose  wreathed  curves 
And  shell-like  involutions,  lightning  played 
Innocuous,  in  sportive,  flashing  forks — 
Itself  a  spectacle  of  rarest  beauty. 
There  paused  they  like  a  flock  of  pigeons  wild, 
When,  with  accordant  wing,  they  light  on  trees, 
Thus  resting  in  their  passage  on  from  land 
To  land,  close  nestling  in  the  boughs  aloft; 
Alow,  for  food  or  sport,  in  autumn,  when 
The  woods  are  painted  in  their  dolphin  hues 
To  sate  our  eyes  with  beauty. 

From  their  number, 

Two  came  floating  down  in  graceful  flight, 
With  many  a  playful  curve  and  airy  wheel, 
As  if  on  some  sweet  mission  kindly  bent, 
And  having  three  times  circled  round  the  Pair, 
And  having  three  times  bowed  the  knee  before 
The  Infant  Savior,  then,  with  songs  and  chants 
(\Vhich  those  upon  the  clouds  accompanied 
With  music  instrumental),  they  held  up 
Baskets  brimful  of  most  delicious  fruit, 
Festooned  with  flowers;  smiling,  they  waved  them  round, 
And  thus  presented  them  with  rhythmic  words: 


130  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

SONG    OF    THE    ANGELS. 
I. 

Hail,  Mary,  hail! 
Thou  hast  had  slumber  sweet, 
Beautiful  heaven-dreams, 
Shelter  from  mountain  streams, 
Shelter  from  tempest's  beat. 
Hail,  Virgin,  hail! 

ii. 

Whilst  thou  wert  sleeping  here, 
We,  from  the  Central  Sun 

Traveled  to  Lebanon, 
Sweet-smelling,  snowy-topped, 
Cedar-clad  Lebanon. 
Hail,  Mother,  hail! 

in. 

Cooled  by  the  mountain's  breath, 
There  we  found  ice  and  snow; 
Thence  down  to  Nazareth 

Swiftly  we  two  did  go; 
Juicy  fruits  there  we  found 

On  branches  high  and  low, 
Pomegranates,  apples  round, 
Citrons,  grapes,  oranges, 
Sunny-ripe,  to  and  fro 
Waving  in  winds  that  blow 

Over  the  Holy  Land. 
Take  them — both  fruit  and  snow. 

Here  is  a  basketful; 
Reach  out  thy  holy  hand, 

Lady! 
Reach  out  thv  hand. 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  131 

IV. 

Hark  to  a  silver  bell, 
High  up  in  heaven's  dome, 
Sounding  so  far  and  soft, 
That  never  mortal  ear 
Yet  heard  its  ringing  clear, 
Save  thine, 

Virgin  Divine, 

Save  only  thine, 

Thine; 
Fare  thee  well — fare  thee  well — 

We  must  aloft. 

Then  to  their  compeers  stationed  on  the  cloud 

The  Angel  pair  ascended  cheerily. 

Straightway  the  travelers  examined  well 

The  palatable  food  uppiled  within 

The  woven  osier  baskets.     Their  sweet  rhymes 

Had  spoken  truth  for  once;  for  poesy, 

When  genuine,  seldom  utters  what  is  false. 

They  found  fine  wheaten  bread,  and  a  small  flask 

Of  wine  of  Palestine — wine  of  the  best, 

Sweet  to  the  smell  and  sweeter  to  the  taste. 

Of  this  last  Blessed  Mary  gently  sipped, 

As  doth  a  delicate  bird  quenching  its  thirst 

Beside  a  limpid  rill.     So,  first  they  made 

Their  savory  supper  off  the  bread  and  wine, 

Both  from  their  birthplace,  and  both  smelt  of  home, 

Both  gladdened  their  pure  hearts.     Then,  for  dessert, 

In  moderation,  but  with  relish  keen, 

They  ate  of  those  delectable  fruits,  inwreathed 

In  flowery  garlands,  tastefully  combined; 

And  as  they  did  so,  oft  they  called  to  mind 

The  hills  on  which  they  ripened.     Smell,  and  taste, 


132  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

And  memory,  all  were  gratified  at  once, 
Both  mind  and  body — heavenly  feast  indeed ! 

Anon  their  glance  they  turn  to  the  westering  sun, 
Which  hung  bright  hovering  o'er  the  mountain-tops, 
Soon  doomed  to  sink  behind  them.    Then  (sweet  sight) 
The  Infant  Savior  raised  his  little  hand 
And,  rosily  smiling,  pointed  to  the  orb 
About  to  disappear,  then  turned  it  east, 
Where  broken  fragments  of  the  rainbow's  arch 
Were  melting  soft  away. 

But  hark!  afar 

To  westward — faint  to  mortal  ear — but  loud 
To  listening  Angel's;  hark!  the  peal 
Of  silver  trumpet  coming  swiftly  on, 
And  sounding  as  it  came  a  signal-note, 
Which  told  the  advent  of  another  band 
Of  Angel  messengers.     From  out  the  cloud 
(I  mean  the  cloud  of  which  'twas  said  before 
That  lightning  played  around  it),  quick  there  came 
An  answering  trumpet-note,  which  nearer  pealed, 
And  therefore  louder.     Quavers  two  it  had, 
Between  which  was  a  middle  note  of  strength, 
The  latter  quaver  tremulous  and  prolonged, 
The  first  more  quick  and  frequent.     Far  around 
The  note  resounded, 

"  Ta — ta — ta — tan — tan — ra — ra/' 
Through  echoing  caverns,  and  down  gorges  deep, 
Till  all  the  region  round  with  clangor  sweet 
Seemed  circle-wise  o'erflowing. 

Nearer  and  nearer, 

From  strange,  far  countries  not  then  known  to  be, 
By  those  in  Europe  or  in  Asia  born, 
They  came  thus  heralded  by  silver  tromp; 
They  came  across  the  ocean  of  the  west — 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  133 

The  broad  Atlantic — not  then  crossed  by  men. 
'Mong  many  curious  things,  they  brought  a  flower, 
A  mystic  flower,  which  seemed  to  symbolize 
Some  great  event,  which,  in  the  coming  time, 
Should  mold  the  world  anew. 

Arrived  at  length, 

They  greeted  those  upon  the  floating  cloud, 
As  angels  greet  each  other  when  they  meet; 
Then  one  approached,  saluted  thrice  the  Pair, 
Bowed  three  times  to  the  Savior  of  the  world 
And  then,  with  earnest,  kindly  air,  like  one 
Who  does  a  painful  duty  gracefully, 
But  still  against  his  will,  he  held  the  flower 
Before  her  view,  reciting  all  the  while 
Some  verses,  very  sweet  but  somewhat  sad, 
And  full  of  most  heart-thrilling  mystery, 
Which  hung,  like  drapery,  around  the  theme, 
Neither  concealing  it  in  full  from  view, 
Nor  quite  revealing  it.     All  this  was  done 
In  kindness  and  with  good  intent,  to  pave 
The  way  for  coming  woes,  and  blunt  their  edge. 
The  Holy  Lady,  trembling,  reached  her  hand 
And  took  the  flower,  half-smiling,  weeping  half. 
She  seemed  like  one  who  strives  to  hide  her  gloom 
From  those  around,  lest  it  might  grieve  them  too. 
It  would  not  do — the  tear  ran  oozing  forth 
Adown  her  virgin  cheek,  grown  suddenly  pale. 
A  shudder  o'er  her  blooming  members  came, 
An  instant's  shrinking,  as  when  summer  sky 
Is  suddenly  overcast,  and  a  wailing  wind 
Sweeps  over  some  soft,  shrinking,  sensitive  plant. 
She  knew  not  what  the  mystic  flower  meant, 
She  could  not  have  expressed  her  thought  in  words, 
But  a  strange  forefeel  of  some  future  \voe 


134  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Thrilled  through  her  frame,  and  thus  suffused  her  eyes. 

The  angel,  seeing  this,  on  bended  knee, 

With  wings  close-folded,  and  with  bowed-down  head, 

Remained  in  pensive  posture,  wrapped  in  thought. 

Joseph,  who,  less  than  she,  had  understood 

What  meant  the  mystic  plant,  endeavored  much 

To  overcome  the  force  of  sympathy; 

But  all  in  vain — in  vain — 

The  big  tears  trickled  down  his  ruddy  cheek 

And  manly  beard,  like  raindrops  from  wet  caves. 

Then  stretched  the  Holy  Child  his  little  hands, 
As  if  he  wished  to  grasp  the  mystic  flower, 
To  scan  it,  fondle  it,  mayhap  to  play  with  it. 
He  knew  not  what  it  meant  still  less  than  they. 
The  crown  of  thorns,  the  spear,  the  five  red  wounds, 
The  triple  nails,  the  scourge,  the  holy  wood, 
All  the  twelve  mystic  instruments  of  woe 
And  glory,  all  in  floral  portraiture 
Displayed,  wrere  there;  he  knew  not  what  they  meant; 
And,  often  laughing  through  his  tears,  which  came 
He  knew  not  why,  he  strove,  with  innocent  wiles, 
To  soothe  his  mother  and  his  foster-sire. 
Then  the  sweet  Mother  wiped  her  dropping  eyes, 
And  by  a  strong  exertion  calmed  her  face, 
And  wrapping  carefully  the  flower  up, 
As  one  folds  up  a  sorrow  that  may  come 
And  lays  it  out  of  sight,  she  placed  it  in 
The  embroidered  pouch  that  hung  beside  her  belt, 
And  looked  around  as  if  in  search  of  aught 
That  might  divert  her  thoughts:  such  object  came. 

The  kneeling  Angel  rose,  and  from  his  zone 
Loosened  a  gaudy-looking  bag,  beplumed, 
And  all  with  curious  shells  and  beads  o'erwrought, 
And  broideries,  such  as  tropic  tribes  delight  in, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  135 

And  drew  therefrom  a  sprig  of  evergreen, 
Which  he  presented  thus  with  dancing  rhymes: 
Here  are  leaves  evergreen, 
Close-plaited,  thick  and  dense, 
Not  shaking  easily, 
Ne'er  moving  breezily, 
Sweeter  than  frankincense. 
The  tree  those  leaves  grow  upon, 
Is  not  a  mighty  one. 
Like  trees  of  Lebanon. 
Tis  not  lofty,  'tis  not  mighty, 
Seems  not  so  to  mortal  eye; 
Some  do  call  it  Arbor  Vitae, 
Ever  pointing  to  the  sky. 

Steadily,  steadily, 
Blow  the  winds  rough  or  soft, 

It  looks  to  God  aloft, 

Like  a  saint's  daily  life, 

Green  under  winter's  snow. 

Take  these  leaves,  crush  them  up, 

They  will  the  sweeter  grow, 

Readily,  readily, 

Giving  their  fragrance  forth. 
Take  these  leaves  of  Arbor  Vitse, 

Crush  them,  smell  them,  Lady,  try; 
'Tis  not  lofty,  seems  not  mighty, 
But  points  ever  to  the  sky. 

The  Virgin  did  as  she  was  bid,  and  smiled; 
The  sympathetic  smile  went  round  the  group. 
The  Winged  One  then  told  in  simple  words 
About  the  evergreen  tree,  what  kind  of  roots, 
Its  spread  beneath  the  soil,  how  it  was  found 
On  both  the  Atlantic  shores,  but  of  a  kind 


136  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Diverse  in  each.     Then  told  he  of  strange  birds, 
And  pointing  to  the  feathered  pouch  he  bore, 
He  bade  her  note  the  plumes  so  bright,  so  sheen, 
So  curious  in  texture;  telling  her 
How  it  had  once  belonged  to  a  savage  queen, 
Who  lived  in  a  green  island  far  across 
The  ocean  wave.     "  But  promise,"  first  he  said, 
"To  keep  what  now  I  tell  you  a  profound 
And  all-unwhispered  secret."     Joseph  bowed 
And  pointed  to  his  lips,  and  Mary  bowed, 
And  then  the  Winged  One  narrated  thus: 
"The  time  has  not  arrived  by  centuries 
Fourteen,  when  that  far  distant  land,  so  rich 
And  grand,  shall  be  made  known  to  those  that  dwell 
On  this  side  the  great  ocean.     Then  shall  rise 
A  pious,  subtle-thoughted  man  o'  the  sea, 
Who,  praying  much,  and  studying  much,  shall  sail, 
After  his  hair  grows  white,  across  the  wave 
And  reach  a  wonderful  country — a  New  World. 
His  very  name,  as  called  by  his  compeers, 
Shall  seem  prophetic  of  the  mighty  deed, 
So  strangely  oft  are  wond'rous  world-events 
Link'd  in  a  golden  chain,  with  ring  in  ring, 
All  closely  interwoven  and  compact. 
Christophoro  Colombo,  his  two  names! 
The  first  is  founded  on  a  future  myth 
(For  many  strange  myths  shall  spring  up  and  take 
Firm  root  in  the  belief  of  coming  men), 
Of  a  vast  giant,  who  shall  bear,  they'll  say, 
A  Holy  Child  upon  his  shoulders  broad, 
And  with  him  on  his  back,  shall  wade  across 
A  deep,  wide  water  (so  shall  run  the  legend): 
The  second  name  means — or  will  mean — a  dove. 
On  these  two  emblems  long  might  fancy  brood, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  137 

And  build  a  world  of  wonders.     But  enough. 

Farewell.     Receive  this  trifle.     It  contains 

Some  rarities  of  transatlantic  birth, 

Which  may  both  please  the  eye  and  pique  the  mind." 

With  heartfelt  thanks  the  Virgin  took  the  scrip 
Thus  wafted  to  her  from  an  unknown  world, 
Eying  its  curious  bead  and  feather  work, 
Its  many-colored  plumes  and  inwrought  shells, 
Which  piqued  her  fancy  to  perpetual  play, 
And  caused  her  think  what  a  sweet  task  't  would  be, 
Some  future  day,  when  travel-toils  were  over, 
And  she  snug  seated  'midst  her  early  friends, 
To  scan  its  new-world  treasures.     But  she  vowed 
She'd  keep  the  secret  closely,  firmly  locked 
Within  her  inmost  heart — she  would  indeed — 
O,  what  rich  realms  of  wonder  and  of  mirth! 
What  arch  evasive  answers,  innocent  fun ! 

These  thoughts    flashed    swiftly   through  her   youthful 

mind 

Like  gold  carp  through  a  pool.     But  lo!  a  sight! 
A  lovely  spectacle !     The  Angel  bands, 
The  three  >  each  separate  first,  and  each  arrived 
From  different  quoins  o'  the  world,  now  all  combine 
In  one,  and  with  a  trinal  symphony 
Lark-like  ascend,  all  singing  as  they  soar, 
Still  singing  e'en  when  lost  to  mortal  sight, 
The  music  sweeter  as  more  far  it  grew, 
Upmounting,  swelling,  opening,  spreading  out; 
To  those  who  stood  enthralled  below  they  seemed 
The  birds  of  passage  of  the  universe, 
Winging  their  way  through  heaven  from  star  to  star, 
And  hastening  onward  to  the  Central  Sun. 

"  Now  that  the  sun  has  set  and  angels  gone," 
Said  Joseph  firmly,  like  a  man  who  girds 


138  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Himself  for  a  strong  effort,  "we  perforce 
Must  travel  onwards.     Night  is  coming  on, 
And  darkness.     We  must  leave  this  lonely  mount, 
This  Cave  of  the  Seven  Cedars.     Who  can  tell 
But  that  some  friendly  shepherds  may  be  found 
Around  the  mountain's  foot,  whose  sheltering  tents 
To-night  shall  give  us  hospitable  welcome, 
And  a  snug,  quiet  place  wherein  to  sleep." 

So  saying,  their  preparations  soon  were  made, 
And  off  they  started  down  the  mountain's  side. 


CANTO   VI. 

THE     BRIDGES. 

when  a  thoughtful  man  of  modern  days, 
Wandering  through  devious  wood-roads,  o'er  the  hills, 
Oft  pauses  on  some  bosky  ridge,  to  list 
The  voice  of  torrent  floods  that  roar  beside 
A  railroad's  track  below,  if  suddenly 
A  train  of  cars  comes  sliding  down  the  curves, 
Now  this  side,  and  now  that,  of  the  stream's  brink, 
Whilst  these  are  passing,  hears  the  stream  no  more, 
But  gathers  all  his  powers  to  catch  the  din, 
Now  coming,  now  receding,  of  the  cars, 
Soon  as  the  wheels  have  thundered  past,  again 
Can  hear  the  voice  of  waters  and  of  pines; 
So  fared  it  with  our  travelers.     First,  came  floods, 
With  thunder  rolling  on  from  cloud  to  cloud; 
Then  the  rich  harmony  of  angel  bands; 
But  when  these  all  had  ceased,  they  heard  from  far 
And  near  the  floods  again,  with  all  the  sounds 
On  nature's  steps  attendant.     Joseph,  then, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  139 

Thus  spake  to  his  companion:  "  Mother  sweet, 
Hark  how  the  maddened  waters  roar,  and  vex 
The  air  with  wildest  clamor.     Night  is  coming. 
I  fear  we  can  not  pass  the  swollen  floods 
Which,  all  unbridged,  fierce  tumble  down  the  hills; 
And  yet  a  secret  voice  within  me  cries: 
'  Go  on — go  on — if  water's  power  is  strong, 
The  power  of  faith  is  stronger — man,  go  on.' 
What  think'st  thou  of  that  voice  ? " 

"Obey  its  best," 

Said  Mary,  looking,  trustful,  up  to  heaven, 
And  folding  Jesus  closer  to  her  breast. 
"  Obey  its  hest;  thy  guardian  angel  speaks, 
Unseen,  but  hovering  near.     Since  we  have  been 
Upon  this  journey,  firmly  I  believe 
We  never,  night  or  day,  have  been  alone; 
And  whilst  our  thoughts  keep  pure,  our  aims  sincere, 
Alone  we  ne'er  shall  be.     Bad  spirits  loosed  from  hell, 
And  evil  demons  ranging  round  the  world, 
May  still  be  on  the  watch  to  do  us  hurt, 
And  harm  this  Holy  Being  in  my  arms; 
But  vain  shall  be  their  efforts  whilst  we  two 
Are  faithful  to  ourselves  and  true  to  Him; 
Therefore,  lead  forward." 

Forwards  still  they  went. 
It  was  an  antique  mountain  road,  deep-worn 
By  years  of  travel;  sumpter-mules  in  lines, 
Mule  after  mule,  slow-stepping  up  the  rocks 
Or  down  them,  often  passed  these  perilous  heights, 
The  drivers  cheering  them  with  songs  the  while, 
As  still  is  done  in  Spain;  and  had  the  storm 
Not  swelled  the  streams,  or  swept  away  each  bridge, 
It  still  were  passable  to  man  or  beast. 
But  scarcely  had  they  traveled  half  a  league, 


140  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Before  a  turbid  watercourse,  loud-voiced 
And  swift  and  turbulent,  rushed  athwart  their  way, 
Seeming  to  bar  all  passage.     Stock  still  stood 
The  beast  which  Joseph  led,  aghast  with  fear; 
Far-darkening  shadows  fell  from  rocks  around, 
Making  the  dusk  of  evening  still  more  dread. 
"A  gloomy  spot  to  spend  the  night."     " Indeed, 
'Twould  be  so — but  more  gloomy  still  to  turn 
And  to  retrace  our  steps  which  we  have  ta'en 
With  mickle  toil  adown  the  the  channeled  rocks, 
And  gloomier  still  than  all  the  thought  that  we 
Were  traveling  even  half  a  league  towards  the  spot 
Where  dwells  the  blood-stained  tyrant  we  are  flying." 
Behold !  thought-quick  a  stable,  one-arched  bridge, 
Reared  without  human  hands,  with  lighted  lamps 
On  either  side,  uprose  and  spanned  the  flood, 
As  if  inviting  them  to  pass.     Without 
One  shudder  of  alarm,  one  tremor  slight, 
They  passed  the  bridge,  by  faith  led  on,  by  faith 
Upheld.     Scarce  had  they  cleared  its  two-fold  grades, 
Before,  with  sudden  crash,  the  mass  gave  way, 
And  down  svere  swept  its  timbers  and  its  piers, 
And,  whirling  round  and  round,  were  quickly  dashed 
Sheer  o'er  the  toppling  precipice  that  yawned 
On  one  side  of  the  bridge;  the  waterfall 
Swift  sucked  them  down,  and  in  an  instant's  time 
The  structure  all  had  vanished. 

''Fearful  sight," 

Said  Mary,  clasping  firmer  her  sweet  charge, 
And  looking  up  to  heaven  with  thankful  heart. 
"  Greater  the  peril,  sweeter  the  escape," 
Said  Joseph,  moving  briskly  down  the  mount, 
With  firm  hand  leading  forward  the  awed  beast 
So  that  he  might  not  stumble.     "  In  our  dreams 


The  Flighl  into  Egypt.  141 

This  may  come  back  to  us,  perhaps;  and,  waking, 

How  sweet  to  feel  that  danger  there  is  none, 

And  that  the  bridge,  with  all  its  planks  and  lights, 

Shall  fall  no  more  for  us;  even  to  see 

It  falling,  after  we  have  passed  its  arch, 

Makes  all  the  blood  run  cold."     They  traveled  on. 

Downwards  in  savage  zigzags,  ever  down, 
The  solitary  track  conducted  them 
Past  many  a  scene  of  horror;  under  crags 
Which,  toppling  overhead,  threatened  to  fall 
•If  loosened  by  a  breath;  by  dizzy  brinks, 
One  glance  at  which  inflicted  thoughts  of  terror 
Blacker  than  dreams  of  nightmare.     More  than  once 
Some  vast  o'erhanging  rock  far  off  was  heard, 
.  Torn  from  its  base  by  hungry,  eating  floods, 
To  tumble  headlong  down  with  all  its  pines, 
Dread  echoing  round  the  mountains.     Quite  as  wild, 
But  not  so  startling  to  them  was  it  once, 
When,  from  an  open  roadside  space,  they  caught 
A  glimpse  of  the  new  moon,  about  to  sink 
Behind  the  topmost  peak  of  the  whole  range; 
One  of  her  sharp  horns  even  then  was  hid, 
As  though  behind  that  wild,  chaotic  pass 
She  meant  to  plunge  to  nothing.     Such  fine  scenes, 
So  dear  to  painter's  or  to  poet's  eye, 
Are  not  without  their  use  in  this  hard  world, 
And  ofttimes  drive  the  thoughts  from  centering  self 
In  ever-widening  circles  round  the  world, 
Or,  nobler  still,  conduct  them  up  to  God. 
Thus  was  it  with  that  pious-hearted  pair, 
Slow  traveling  down  the  mountain's  darkening  side. 
The  sense  of  danger  had  not  so  benumbed 
Their  loftier  feelings  that  they  could  not  gaze 
With  rapture  on  such  spectacles.     Thank  God, 


142  The  Flight  into  Egypt: 

They  thought  of  God,  whilst  gazing  on  the  moon. 

Still,  ever  downward!     Joseph  said,  at  last: 
"  I  think  I  hear  beneath  us  a  full  stream 
Which,  having  overflowed  its  natural  banks, 
Has  widened  so  its  bounds,  that  we,  perforce, 
Must  rest  all  night  beside  its  rushing  flood." 
"I  hear  its  mighty  voice,  tod,"  Mary  said, 
Although  no  tremor  mingled  with  her  speech 
To  mar  its  silvery  sweetness;  "  but  I  think 
That  we  shall  pass  its  waves,  however  wide, 
And  travel  o'er  its  flood,  however  deep, 
And  reach  the  other  shore,  however  far; 
And  that  nor  flood  nor  fire  shall  stop  our  course, 
Until  we  gain  the  shepherds'  sheltering  tents." 

Ere  long  they  reached  an  open,  treeless  knoll, 
From  which  they  viewed  the  prospect  stretching  dim 
Beneath  the  starlight,  and  beheld  a  stream 
Which,  broad  and  long  and  rapid  in  its  flow, 
Rolled  on  in  dusky  grandeur  through  the  night, 
With  such  a  deep-toned,  melancholy  roar 
As  made  the  very  stars  in  heaven  look  sad. 
As  thus  they  stood  at  gaze,  and  vainly  strove, 
By  aid  of  the  far  stars  (too  vastly  far 
To  illumine  objects  on  this  nether  earth), 
Behold !  again  that  wonderful  Light  'gan  beam 
From  the  Almighty  Child,  which  now  and  then 
(Not  always)  issued  in  mysterious  streams — 
Light  which  the  angels  could  not  understand — 
An  effluence  differing  from  known  solar  light 
In  many  ways — though  softer,  more  intense; 
More  luminous,  but  less  dazzling;  though  serene, 
All-perceant;  though  as  bland  as  olive  oil, 
As  penetrative  as  the  electric  spark; 
Diffusive,  mystic,  increate,  unknown. 


I  he  Flight  into  Egypt.  143 

As  mariners  watch  the  changes  of  the  tide, 

The  Virgin  Mother,  with  attentive  eye, 

Since  the  Child's  birth  had  watched  its  ebbs  and  flows; 

But  still  she  understood  it  not — knew  not 

Whence  or  how  came  it,  or  by  what  strange  laws 

Its  intermitted  efflux  was  evolved; 

But  oft,  deep  musing,  in  her  secret  heart 

She  thought  that  as  it  seldom  or  ever  shone 

Except  when  the  God-Child  was  sunk  in  sleep, 

That  visions  of  his  ante-natal  life 

Perhaps  were  then  bright-flashing  through  his  brain 

Like  summer  lightnings  through  a  sleeping  cloud 

At  sunset,  when  the  air  is  all  serene, 

And  earth  wrapt  up  in  dreams.     At  such  times,  too, 

Soft-wreathing  smiles  were  often  seen  to  pass 

Across  his  infant  features  beautiful, 

Like  silvery  iceblinks  seen  in  polar  seas 

When  Northern  Lights  are  dancing,  and  starred  Night 

Seems  lovelier  than  proud  Day. 

Then  they  beheld 

Distinct  that  storm-fed  river.     What  before 
Seemed  a  wild  waste  of  waters  dim  and  dark, 
Now  gleamed  with  silvery  splendor.     They  could  tell 
The  natural  bed  of  the  stream,  when  at  its  full, 
From  the  broad  border  of  wave-covered  marsh 
On  either  side,  bedecked  with  washy  ooze. 
Beyond  it  a  rich  tract  of  table-land 
Stretched  southward  in  far  upward-rising  slope, 
Where  lovely  clumps  of  trees  were  intermixed 
With  pastures;  and  still  further  (wished-for  sight), 
Sweet  shepherd  tents  all  gleaming  in  the  glow 
Of  that  clear  primal  light.     With  joy  they  eyed 
First  the  lit  landscape,  then  the  sleeping  Babe, 
Then  one  another's  faces,  heaven-illumed. 


144  The  Flight  into  Egvpt. 

As  when,  in  early  pioneering  days, 
Some  hunter  or  bold  trapper  of  the  west, 
Roaming  beneath  the  Rocky  Mountain  range, 
Would  start  ere  dawn  of  day,  while  yet  the  stars 
Were  shining,  and  should  reach  a  bluff 
From  whose  tall  top  he  views  an  unknown  stream 
Rolling  in  dusky  gloom — Nebraska's  wave, 
Or  Niobrara  green  with  groves  of  pine — 
Musing  and  gazing  much  he  falls  asleep — 
He  sleeps — he  wakes — the  scene  before  so  weird 
Now  brightens,  for,  behold !  the  sun  is  up, 
And  up  he  takes  his  gun,  and  hies  in  quest 
Of  game,  and  shouts  for  joy,  and  leaps  adown 
The  bluff:  such  to  these  two  appeared  the  change, 
When  that  Divine  Effulgence,  raying  forth, 
Opened  the  rich,  wide  prospect. 

Then  again, 

Singing,  they  journeyed  down  the  mountain's  side 
Towards  the  water's  brink,  as  pilgrim  bands 
In  after-days  were  wront  their  souls  to  cheer 
When  onwards  to  Loretto's  shrine  they  paced, 
Hallowing  the  way  with  music. 

At  the  stream 

Arrived,  they  pause  in  silence  for  a  time 
To  list  its  rueful  voice,  with  hearts  deep  hushed, 
And  some  slight  touch  of  terror.     Then  the  Child 
Waking  from  slumber,  lo !  the  splendor  fades, 
And  double  darkness,  streaming  fog-like  up, 
Close-wrapt  them  sudden  round  like  a  black  pall, 
Made  drearier  by  contrast.     Quite  as  long, 
As  one  might  count  a  score  in  measured  speech, 
They  tarried  in  the  darkness  by  the  flood's 
Wave-tortured  shore,  absorbed  in  anxious  thought, 
And  almost  frenzied  bv  the  boisterous  swirl 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  145 

Of  breaking,  dashing  billows — 

When,  lo,  a  light! — a  thousand  lights  at  once 

Flash  in  long-streaming  lines  across  a  bridge ! 

A  bridge  upreared  in  darkness!  but  complete 
In  all  its  parts,  pier,  buttress,  balustrade, 
Arch  after  arch  of  lordly  span,  from  shore 
To  shore  conducting,  by  a  lustrous  path 
Above  the  waters,  to"  the  other  side. 
Nor  wanted  holy  harpers  stationed  round 
On  airy  minarets  from  point  to  point 
Along  the  lighted  pathway — sweet  their  hymns, 
And  sweet  the  golden  instruments  they  played. 
And  loftier  still,  in  center  of  the  bridge 
A  many-colored  campanile  rose, 
With  marvelous  chimes  of  bells  by  angels  rung 
In  answer  to  the  harpers  lower  down. 
And  sometimes  bells  and  harps  paused  for  a  time, 
A  little  interval,  when  cymbals  loud 
Resounding  struck  the  waters,  struck  the  sky, 
And  made  the  firm  bridge  tremble.     Prelude  this 
To  a  much  softer  music,  which  arose 
Softer  and  sweeter  from  a  smaller  set 
Of  delicatest  bells,  fine-toned,  fine-tuned, 
Of  silver  some,  and  some  of  purest  gold, 
More  dulcet  than  the  bells  of  Fairyland; 
And  rhythmic  flutes,  and  musical  glasses  played 
By  seraph-fingers  round  the  moistened  brim ; 
And,  what  was  charming  more  than  all  the  rest, 
Than  flutes  or  glasses  or  harmonicons, 
Angelic  voices  in  rich  unison 
Saluted,  as  he  passed,  the  Son  of  God, 
The  Virgin  pure  saluted.     O,  'twas  sweet 
And  jubilant,  that  passage  o'er  the  bridge! 

Entranced,  they  scarce  had  reached  the  other  shore, 


146  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

When  all  the  wonder-structure  'gan  dissolve. 
Quenched  were  the  lights,  the  harpers  flew  to  heaven, 
The  singers,  ringers,  flutists,  disappeared; 
By  some  strange  spell  the  solid  wood  and  stone 
Seemed  gradual  changed  to  water.     From  above 
Downwards  the  magic  transformation  ran, 
Melting  the  fabric;  campanile  first, 
Then  minaret,  then  balustrade  and  floor, 
Buttress  and  pier,  one  after  one  became 
A  fluid  mass,  and  streaming  graceful  down, 
And  mingling  gently  with  the  torrent  flood, 
All  vanished !'     Twas  too  beautiful  to  last. 
One  only  bridge  does  history  tell  us  of 
Which  bore  some  semblance  to  that  heavenly  one; 
So  faintly  can  the  sons  of  earth  approach, 
By  studied  effort  and  prefixed  design, 
To  what  the  angels  do  as  if  in  sport. 
'Twas  at  that  joyous  season  when  all  Greece, 
All  Asia  Minor,  and  the  neighbor  isles 
Were  wont  in  pilgrim-bands  to  throng  to  Delos, 
\Vhen,  in  a  single  night,  the  narrow  strait, 
Which  parts  Rhenea  from  Apollo's  isle, 
Was  overspanned,  as  if  by  magic  art, 
With  a  most  gorgeous  structure.     Up  it  rose 
In  darkness  and  the  silence  of  the  night 
(The  parts  having  all  beforehand  been  prepared 
In  Athens,  and  thence  secretly  conveyed), 
And  lo !  when  morning  dawned  it  stood  complete, 
Arch  after  arch  bedecked  with  thousand  flags 
And  blazoned  banners  waving.     Jocund  bands 
Of  rosy  virgins,  bands  of  blooming  youth, 
Chanting  sweet  paeans  'neath  the  rising  sun, 
Whom  thronging  nations  gazed  on  with  delight, 
Across  its  airy  arches  danced  along, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  147 

Bearing  rich  gifts  to  Phoebus.     'Twas  indeed 
A  gala-bridge,  delicious  to  the  sight, 
And  ne'er  to  be  forgotten. 

But  to  return.     The  far  side  of  the  flood, 
Or  that  to  which  the  Holy  Family  passed, 
Had  all  along  its  length  a  wall  of  cloud, 
Which  stood  unmoved  until  the  bridge  dissolved. 
'Twas  broad  below  and  pillarwise  above, 
And  rose  to  highest  heaven — 
Like  that  which  led  the  Israelites  of  old 
Across  the  desert  sands.     Its  hither  side 
Shekinah-bright  appeared,  the  other  dark, 
And  fashioned  so  that  neither  eye  nor  ear 
Could  penetrate  its  substance.     As  they  moved 
Along  their  journey,  soft  to  right  and  left 
It  opened  like  a  folding  door  of  haze, 
And  gave  the  travelers  exit,  melting  soon 
Both  with  its  light  and  darkness  into  air. 
Behind  them  rolled  the  river  wild  and  dark, 
But  ever  more  and  more  they  left  the  gloom, 
And  'gan  ascend  that  upward-sloping  tract 
Which  gently  led  them  on  to  higher  grounds 
And  more  alluring  prospects.     Meteors  bright 
With  brilliant  trails  of  splendor  streaming  from 
The  zenith  southwards  seemed  to  beckon  them  on; 
Incessant  play  of  sheen  electric  gleams 
(Signs,  mayhap,  of  a  far-receding  storm) 
Flashed  round  the  horizon,  bringing  to  quick  view 
Clouds  of  fantastic  shape,  and  clumps  of  trees, 
And  pastoral  flocks  and  herds  and  distant  tents. 
These  objects  came  to  sight  or  disappeared 
In  rapid  sequence,  as  the  strange  light  lived 
Or  died.     Such  sudden  gleams  of  prospect  are 
Often  the  most  attractive;  silvery-soft 


148  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

They  open  to  the  view  delightful  scenes, 
Then  close  them— fancy  does  the  rest — the  eye 
Is  pleased,  not  sated — and  the  spell-bound  soul, 
Forever  looking  forth  for  something  new, 
Enjoys  the  seen,  and  pictures  forth  with  joy 
More  lovely  things  unseen  and  yet  to  come. 


CANTO  VII. 

THE   ARAB   ENCAMPMENT. 
fV 

1£  OMETIMES  they  passed  a  little,  slumb'rous  grove 
Sf)  Of  fair  acacia  trees,  with  delicate  leaves 
Close-folded  in  deep  sleep;  anon  a  breeze, 
Suddenly  whispering,  strewed  the  fragrant  air 
With  showers  of  snow-white  blossoms;  then  a  gush 
Of  music  from  some  dulcet  nightingales, 
Nestling  unseen  among  the  thorny  boughs, 
Charmed  trees  and  listening  stars;  and  ever  still 
New  streams  of  perfume  floated  o'er  their  path, 
And -sweeter  flowers  opened  on  the  night, 
And  others  sweeter  still.     Like  stars  of  earth, 
Among  the  foliage  and  above  the  trees, 
Sparkled  unnumbered  fire-flies. 

On  they  passed 

In  silence  mostly,  for  such  pleasing  thoughts 
Becalmed  them  both,  that  neither  wished  to  speak. 
At  last  the  Virgin  Mother,  in  these  words, 
Commenced  to  think  aloud:  "Since  Gabriel  came 
And  in  my  lowly  home  at  Nazareth 
Announced  to  me  the  coming  wonder-birth, 
This  earth  has  scarce  seemed  earth.     I  know  not  how, 
Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  as  though  I  lived 


The  Flight  into  Eg}'pt.  149 

Wrapt  round  and  round  in  some  high,  holy  dream, 

Like  a  bright  rosy  cloud  with  a  spirit  in  it, 

While  other  clouds,  far  off,  some  nofc  so  bright, 

And  some  with  thunderbolts  but  half  concealed, 

Send  forth  low,  muttering  peals.     Things  once  so  strange 

Seem  strange  no  longer — wonder  seems  no  wonder; 

That  glorious  gala-bridge  o'er  which  we  passed, 

Uprose  not  unexpected  in  the  dark, 

And  all  its  magic  music,  fresh  from  heaven, 

Seemed  scarce  more  high-entrancing  than  the  trills 

Of  those  small  nightingales  which  now  we  hear 

Sweet-quavering  'midst  acacias.     This  fresh  path, 

Bordered  with  flowers,  which,  gently  winding,  leads 

O'er  upland  pastures  and  past  blossoming  trees, 

Could  scarce  be  sweeter  did  it  lead  to  heaven; 

And  those  balsamic  odors  of  the  night, 

Forever  varying  as  we  move  along, 

Seem  not  one  whit  inferior  to  the  breath 

Of  golden  censers  fuming,  angel-swung. 

Yes,  from  the  time  that  Gabriel  spoke  to  me 

And  told  me  of  the  things  which  were  to  come, 

The  commonest  things  of  earth  have  hallowed  been — 

My  lowly  village  home  appeared  transformed, 

The  same  and  not  the  same.     The  village  girls, 

With  whom  I  oft  had  sported,  gathered  round, 

And  led  me  to  the  fields  in  search  of  flowers, 

And  to  the  wroods,  to  peep  into  the  nests, 

And  to  the  emerald  meadows,  there  to  dance, 

And  to  the  village  fountain,  vase  in  hand, 

And  to  the  hills  at  night,  to  watch  the  stars; 

But  everywhere,  in  town,  or  field,  or  woods, 

Methought  I  stood  in  heaven;  and  as  the  lark 

May  be  supposed,  whilst  in  her  lowly  nest 

Among  the  clods,  to  dream  of  dayspring  clear, 


1 50  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

And  of  glad  caroling  among  the  clouds, 

And  of  rich  cantos  sung  above  the  earth, 

So  did  I  dream,  both  day  and  starry  night, 

Of  splendors  high-celestial.     Then  I  went 

To  see  my  cousin  in  the  hill-country, 

Whom,  when  I  had  saluted,  straight  she  felt 

The  babe  leap  in  her  womb  for  very  joy, 

And  prophesied  of  glorious  things  to  come, 

Calling  me  '  Mother  of  her  Lord.'     Then  more 

Than  ever  earth  seemed  heaven  to  me — although 

Scarce  more  than  now  it  does.     But  see  those  herds 

Of  cattle  to  our  left — how  numerous! 

And  to  our  right,  far  on  the  highest  hills, 

What  endless  flocks  of  sheep!  and,  further  on, 

Camels  and  kids  and  asses!     Lo!  it  seems 

As  though  some  patriarch  of  the  olden  time, 

With  alt  his  flocks  and  herds  and  clustered  tents, 

Had  settled  down  upon  this  grassy  slope 

For  pasture.'5 

Joseph  raised  his  eyes,  and  looked 
Around  with  scrutinizing  glance,  and  scanned 
The  pastoral  landscape.     "Need  of  caution  now. 
Perhaps  some  nomad  chief  or  Arab  sheik, 
Near  us  encamped,  may  be  among  those  tents." 
Mary  let  down  her  vail.     "  Be  cautious,  dearest. 
Conceal  from  view  the  few  things  we  may  have 
Of  any  value."     Mary  from  her  ears 
Unloosed  her  pendants  formed  of  opal  stone, 
Eight-rayed,  and  set  in  purest  gold.     "  Be  sure 
Thou  dost  not  let  them  see  the  golden  cup 
One  of  the  wise  men  gave  us."     She  replied: 
"  The  cup  is  safely  stowed  away  within 
The  sackcloth  bag  upon  the  donkey's  back, 
And  no  one  e'er  will  dream  of  things  so  rich 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  151 

In  such  poor  wrappings."     Joseph  stroked  his  beard, 

And  spoke  like  one  communing  with  himself: 

"Well — very  well — the  cup  is  safe,  I  think, 

The  gold,  the  jewels,  and  the  precious  myrrh, 

The  earrings  and  the  bracelets  and  gold  chains — 

All  safe  within  the  sack — so  far,  so  good — 

My  prized  papyrus  scroll  is  in  my  pouch, 

And  if  it  were  not,  no  one  here  could  read  it; 

All  safe,  I  think,  all  well  concealed  from  view, 

All  safe.     But  we  perhaps  must  needs  confront 

The  owner  of  these  herds.     I  hope  he  may 

Not  prove  a  ruffian  and  remove  thy  veil — 

Such  outlaws  may  be  found — and,  Virgin  Mother, 

The  feather-fringed  scrip  the  angel  gave  thee  ?" 

Mary  unloosed  it  from  the  broidered  belt, 

And  placed  it  in  the  sack;  the  belt  itself 

She  also  thus  arranged,  and  a  rough  cord 

She  tied  around  her  waist,  and  all  was  fixed. 

A  furlong  thence  they  reached  some  circling  tents, 
High  overtopped  by  many  a  lofty  palm. 
Addressing  some  they  saw  reposing  there 
On  the  green  turf,  the  men  began  to  stare 
As  though  they  understood  not;  but  at  last, 
By  signs  and  words  Semitic  (they  were  Arabs), 
Joseph  made  them  conceive  the  thing  he  meant. 
Then  did  they  lead  the  travelers  slowly  on 
To  where  the  chieftain  sat  within  his  tent, 
Upon  a  gorgeous  cushion  stretched  at  ease, 
Playing  some  game  of  chance  with  one  who  seemed 
His  favorite  wife  (another  tent  hard  by 
Contained  some  other  wives  and  concubines); 
And  Joseph  told  his  story  then  so  well 
(The  chief  knew  well  the  tongue  of  the  holy  land), 
And  answered  all  his  questions  with  such  skill, 


I52  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Divulging  just  enough  to  satisfy 

But  not  betray,  and  all  with  so  much  grace, 

Such  show  of  openness  and  want  of  guile, 

That  the  pleased  chief,  half  robber  though  he  was, 

Gave  orders  that  the  travelers  should  be  served 

With  the  best  fare  his  tented  home  could  yield. 

And,  better  to  insure  this  end,  he  told 

Some  trusty  servitors,  with  utmost  care, 

To  lead  the  Lady  to  his  mother's  tent, 

And  give  her  to  that  matron's  kindly  charge 

Till  morrow  morn — for  Joseph  had  made  known 

His  wish  to  start  ere  daybreak.     All  went  well. 

Joseph  himself  was  shown  a  vacant  tent, 
Where  all  his  wants  were  cared  for,  and  his  beast's. 
On  leaving  then  the  sheik,  he  viewed  again, 
What  he  had  merely  glanced  at  as  he  went, 
The  beautiful  Arab  mares  (five  hundred  told) 
Tethered  at  proper  intervals  around 
The  lodging  of  their  lord.     Beside  the  mares 
Stood  sentinels,  all  armed  in  Arab  guise, 
To  watch  one  quarter  of  the  night,  and  then 
To  be  relieved  by  fresh  ones.     Lamps  hung  round 
Suspended  to  the  palms,  or  raised  on  poles, 
Arid  piles  of  arms  were  stacked  in  warlike  pomp, 
Ready  for  instant  use. 

The  Virgin  Mother 

Was  by  that  antique  Arab  dame  received 
With  show  of  utmost  kindness.     Long  she  gazed 
Upon  her  youthful  beauty;  longer  still 
Upon  the  Godlike  beauty  of  the  Child. 
Such  holy,  heavenly  eyes!     She  ne'er  had  seen 
Aught  like  them.     Then,  those  graceful,  curling  locks! 
Through  which  such  gleams  of  light  seemed  intertwined, 
That  much  as  she  admired  them,  a  strange  awe 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  153 

Stole  over  her.     Never  had  she  seen  such  light 
Round  any  human  head.     It  seemed  at  times 
As  though  around  his  curls  a  thin,  thin  circlet 
Of  delicatest  texture  came  and  went, 
Now  melting  into  nothing,  now  aglow, 
Like  rainbows  round  a  mist-hung  waterfall, 
And  still  she  gazed  and  gazed,  until  her  eyes, 
Which  often  had  absorbed  the  desert's  glare, 
Shone  like  an  ancient  Sibyl's.     Lo!  her  lips 
'Gan  move  with  fitful  motion — much  she  spoke 
In  rhythmic  measure  in  the  Arab  tongue, 
Which  Blessed  Mary  understood  not  fully, 
Although  she  thought  it  seemed  like  prophecy. 
At  last  that  ancient  mother  fell  asleep, 
The  Infant  sweetly  slumbered,  and  the  Virgin, 
After  her  wanderings  long,  sank  to  repose, 
And  all  within  the  tent  were  hushed  to  rest. 


BOOK  III. 

BORDERLAN  D— Continued. 


CANTO  I. 

MYSTERY   OF   SOUND — MYSTERY   OF   WATER. 

deep  had  been  the  Virgin's  sleep  that  night, 
So  sweet,  so  pure,  so  hushed,  so  holy  calm, 
Almost  it  seemed  like  sleep  of  saintly  death. 
Thus  soul  and  body,  which  had  been  outworn 
By  the  long  travel  of  the  day  before, 
Were  perfectly  restored  to  wonted  strength, 
And  not  before  two  hours  ere  dawn  of  day 
Did  any  cloudlike  dream  float  o'er  the  blue 
Of  slumber.     Then  a  vision  beautiful 
Entered  her  brain;  then  Gabriel  she  saw 
In  garb  and  feature  such  as  when  he  came 
To  announce  the  advent  of  the  Savior  Lord, 
And  thus  unto  her  ear  he  softly  spoke: 

"  Mary,  arise!  the  morning  star  is  up; 
Another  day  of  journeying  must  begin. 
Arise,  and  for  the  pilgrimage  prepare. 
I  will  awaken  Joseph,  who  will  be 
In  fitting  time  before  the  tent-door,  ready 
With  all  required  needments.     Fresh  and  cool 
Is  breath  of  coming  dawn." 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  155 

Then  Mary  rose, 

And  the  old  Arab  mother  also  rose, 
Subservient  to  the  wishes  of  her  guest. 
Her  maids  she  also  roused,  and  bade  them  fetch 
Pure  water  from  the  spring,  and  napkins  clean, 
Ewer  and  basin,  all  that  was  required 
For  that  more  common  and  recurrent  rite 
Of  daily  baptism,  type  of  one  more  high 
And  spiritual.     In  an  inner  space, 
Veiled  and  partitioned  from  the  common  room, 
The  Virgin  and  the  Child  remained  enshrined 
As  long  as  needful  was;  then  fresh  and  bright, 
As  morning  star  uprising  from  the  sea, 
Effulgent  she  came  forth,  and  filled  the  tent 
With  splendor.     Then  again  that  antique  dame, 
In  reverent  posture  bending  to  the  earth, 
Worshiped  the  Holy  Child,  and  all  her  maids, 
With  an  instinctive  reverence,  worshiped  too, 
Much  wondering  why  their  knees  were  drawn  to  earth, 
And  whence  that  more  than  starry  radiance  came. 

"  Ho!" — Joseph's  voice  from  outside  cheerful  rang — 
"All  hail,  beloved  of  heaven,  come  forth,  come  forth; 
The  morning  star  is  singing  blithe  for  joy, 
Although  we  hear  him  not;  all  dewy-fresh, 
Cool  Night  still  wears  some  jewels  in  her  crown, 
Ere  long  compelled  to  lay  them  gradual  by, 
Until  her  coronation-time  returns. 
Come  forth!  an  angel  orders,  quick,  come  forth." 

Blessing  and  blessed,  the  Virgin  issued  forth, 
As  yet  unveiled,  beneath  the  holy  stars, 
And  as  the  doubled  splendor  moved  along, 
The  Infant  Savior  gazed  upon  the  sky 
With  his  sweet,  lustrous  eyes,  and  waved  his  hands, 
And  jumped  in  his  mother's  arms,  and  crowed  and  laughed- 


156  The  Flight  Mo  Egypt. 

And  crowed  again,  as  though  he  meant  to  say 

To  those  far  worlds,  "  Good  morning."     On  they  went, 

Silent  at  first,  for  near  a  fragrant  mile, 

With  gaze  still  upward  turned,  as  though  the  earth, 

Fresh  as  it  was  and  dewy,  had  for  them 

But  slight  attraction  when  compared  with  heaven; 

A  three-fold  silent  worship !     From  afar 

The  voice  of  floods  and  water-courses  roared, 

Telling  full  ruefully  of  recent  storms, 

And  sounding  like  the  din  of  dying  war; 

And  as  the  travelers  slowly  journeyed  on, 

Old  earth  appeared  to  thrill  through  all  her  bulk 

As  though  some  mystic  Power  were  passing  then, 

Oracular,  dim-booming.     Lamp  on  lamp 

The  lights  were  waxing  faint  in  heaven's  high  vault, 

And  that  dusk  point  of  time  came  creeping  on, 

When,  for  brief  season,  heaven  seems  growing  gray, 

And  earth,  being  not  yet  lighted,  the  vast  world 

Seems  brown  with  lingering  twilight. 

Then  arose 

Two  voices,  bass  and  treble,  sweetly  tuned, 
Singing  a  psalm  of  David;  whilst  a  third, 
A  tenor,  thrilling  on  through  boundless  space. 
Through  earth,  through  air,  through  all  the  fading  stars, 
Accompanied  the  human  chant,  and  rose 
Or  fell,  swelled  up,  or  died  away,  or  paused, 
As  //  did,  forming  one  accordant  mass 
Of  harmony,  the  music  of  all  worlds, 
A  mighty  diapason  formed  of  all, 
All-interpiercing,  all-embracing,  grand. 

Before  the  psalm  was  finished,  all  the  stars 
Had  faded;  Phosphor  vanishing  last.     As  when 
In  some  magnificent  cathedral,  all 
The  services  being  ended,  silent  crowds 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  157 

Pace,  thoughtful,  down  the  aisles  towards  the  door, 

The  solemn  organ  pealing  all  the  while, 

Until  the  worshipers  have  disappeared, 

So,  whilst  that  chant  was  sounding,  star  on  star, 

Evanishing  with  slow  and  solemn  tread, 

Left  heaven's  broad  aisles — and  Night,  close-muffled,  shut 

Her  mighty  minster-doors. 

Soon  daybreak  came, 

Whose  delicate,  rosy  hues  scarce  tinged  the  east, 
Before  they  'gan  to  fade,  all  flooded  o'er 
And  swallowed  up  in  sunshine.     Then  was  heard 
The  song  of  skylark  mounting  up  to  heaven; 
Then  every  nested  tree  sent  forth  a  stream 
Of  melody  composed  of  various  notes, 
And  such  a  piping,  trilling,  warbling  rose, 
All  intermixed,  all  in  confusion  heaped, 
That  had  the  notes  been  louder,  or  less  sweet, 
The  discord  would  have  jarred  upon  the  ear. 

"Each  sings  as  best  he  can,"  said  Joseph,  whilst 
They  passed  a  grove  of  trees  where  such  a  choir 
Of  birds  was  chanting — "each  as  best  he  can. 
Perhaps  there  may  be  men  with  ears  so  fine, 
With  such  a  full  and  perfect  grasp  of  sound, 
With  such  a  knowledge  of  the  song  of  birds, 
That  when  they,  hear  so  many,  all  at  once, 
They  can  take  in  the  whole,  and  every  part, 
And  each  melodious  gush,  each  tiny  rill 
Of  music,  flowing  many  ways  at  once, 
May  be  collected,  grasped,  retained,  and  held 
Until  the  brain  takes  cognizance  of  all. 
Such  men  there  well  may  be,  and  such  I  think 
There  are.     Hence,  'tis  not  past  belief,  that  when 
On  Sabbath  days,  through  all  the  Holyland, 
In  temple,  synagogue,  and  private  room, 


158  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

A  million  voices  rise  at  once  in  prayer, 
Or  hymns  of  thanksgiving,  the  Ear  Supreme 
Can  clasp  them  all,  no  still,  small  voice  unheard, 
No  faintest  note  unheeded." 

"Even  so," 

Said  Mary,  pointing  to  a  blasted  tree; 
"  As  at  a  single  glance  the  rolling  eye 
Takes  in  trunk,  branches,  bough,  and  spray 
Of  yon  tall  oak,  with  all  its  intricate 
Complexity  of  network,  shoot,  and  twig, 
So  does  the  Ear  of  God,  as  I  believe, 
Catch  every  rustle  of  the  smallest  leaf 
That  shakes  on  every  tree  round  all  the  earth, 
The  sound  of  every  wave  on  every  shore, 
The  note  of  every  bird  in  every  land, 
The  faintest  voice  of  every  blade  of  grass, 
Or  tiniest  buzz  of  smallest  insect's  wing." 

Then  Joseph  answered  thus,  in  thoughtful  mood 
"  The  brain  turns  giddy  when  we  strive  to  grasp 
The  mysteries  of  Godhead;  when  we  brood 
In  fancy  o'er  the  congregated  sounds 
Of  all  creation, 

From  thunderclaps  am}  dashing  cataracts 
Down  to  the  chirp  of  cricket  in  the  grass, 
The  loud,  the  soft,  the  musical,  the  harsh, 
The  myriad  sighs  and  pants  and  sobs  and  shouts, 
Death-groans  and  merriest  laughter,  all  combined, 
And  each  distinctly  heard." 

Thus  they,  in  thought, 
On  fancy's  ladder  strove  to  mount  to  God, 
Like  two  brave-hearted  climbers  on  the  Alps, 
Rising  from  height  to  height,  forever  still 
Straining  to  catch  some  glimpse  of  the  Supreme. 
At  last  they  reach  the  highest — and  look  forth 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  159 

In  hopes  to  see  Him,  and  behold  Him  not — 
But  by  the  effort  braced  and  prospect  cheered, 
And  having  scanned  more  of  His  works  the  while, 
A  mightier  God  he  seems  than  aye  before, 
A  mightier  and  a  nearer;  so,  to  these, 
The  matin  song  of  birds,  the  earliest  heard, 
Led  them  from  thought  to  thought  successive  up, 
Until  thought's  instrument,  the  laboring  brain, 
Grown  dizzy,  told  them  they  had  seen  enough, 
And  bade  them  thence  descend. 

Ere  long  they  left 

Those  grassy  slopes  and  meads,  where  they  had  seen 
The  nomads  in  their  tents,  and,  winding  up 
The  crowning  ridge,  came  to  a  region  wild 
And  lone  and  savage;  gorges  black  as  death, 
With  cedars  overbrowed  and  wailing  pine, 
Yawned  round  them  and  before  them ;  on  they  moved, 
Now  passing  o'er  a  tremulous  rustic  bridge 
Which  spanned  a  deep  ravine;  now  creeping  on 
Along  a  breakneck  mule-path,  stony  and  rough; 
Now  wading  through  a  brawling  mountain  brook; 
Now  hanging  on  a  toppling  precipice, 
Where  one  false  step  were  death.     The  sun  new-risen 
Was  masked  from  view,  or  only  shot  his  beams 
Athwart  the  topmost  peaks  or  loftiest  pines, 
Or  now  and  then,  with  narrow  fringe  of  light, 
Through  some  side-opening  in  the  riven  rocks, 
Gleamed  through  a  mass  of  shadow. 

"Ho!  a  land," 

Said  Joseph,  "  where  a  hunter  might  rejoice. 
Here  hart  and  hind  must  find  a  pleasant  home. 
Up  yonder  airy  cliff  the  mountain  goat 
Has  often  clambered,  often  slumbered,  too, 
Fearless  of  vulture's  beak,  or  sweep  of  winds, 


160  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

As  sweetly  and  securely  as,  last  night, 

You,  loveliest,  slumbered  in  the  robber's  tent." 

Along  the  shadowy  gorge  they  journeyed  slow, 
Observant  of  the  sylvan  scene  around. 
Sly  foxes  peeped  at  them  and  slunk  away; 
The  agile  squirrel  leaped  from  tree  to  tree, 
Arching  his  tail;  the  coney  of  the  rock 
Looked  at  them  as  they  passed,  and  slid  from  view; 
Aloft  from  some  tall  peak  the  eagle  rose, 
Far  sailing  o'er  the  loftiest  mountain-tops 
As  though  he  spurned  his  eyrie  as  too  low. 
Once,  from  the  tallest  height  which  they  had  reached, 
They  saw  far,  far  below  a  river  of  mist, 
Which,  rising  from  a  rivulet's  narrow  bed, 
Filled  all  a  hollow  vale  from  side  to  side, 
And  showed  the  windings  of  the  stream  that  fed  it. 
All  billowy  and  grand,  though  made  of  vapor, 
It  rolled  and  spread,  and  in  the  distance  looked 
Like  real  moving  water. 

"Beautiful," 

Said  Joseph,  pointing  to  the  mimic  stream, 
"  Are  most  of  the  many  forms  which  water  takes, 
Though  some  are  also  fearful.     Type  of  love 
And  of  destruction!     Emblem  of  the  might 
And  the  beneficence  of  the  Supreme, 
How  various  are  the  shapes  thou  canst  assume, 
How  awful  and  how  lovely!     Threadlike  rills 
Thou  leadest  now  adown  smooth  emerald  slopes; 
Now,  Samson-like,  thou  shak'st  the  pillared  globe 
As  if  thou  strov'st  to  wrench  it  from  its  base, 
And  whelm  the  whole  in  ruin." 

Here  he  paused, 

And  like  a  singer  who,  in  key  too  high, 
Has  tuned  his  descant,  in  a  lower  note 
Continued  thus. 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  161 

rc  Even  ice  is  beautiful, 
With  pictured  surface  mimicking  the  form 
Of  fern,  or  feathers,  spray,  or  tapering  twigs, 
Or  pine  leaves  needle-shaped. 
Most  beautiful  is  frost  when  seen  upon 
Thin-bladed  grass,  or  candying  mossy  rocks; 
And  as  for  flakes  of  snow,  O !  I  have  watched  them 
With  wonder,  on  the  sides  of  Lebanon, 
When  I  was  there  among  the  woodcutters, 
And  often  did  I  scan  their  curious  figures 
When  newly-fallen — stars,  and  spoked  wheels, 
And  many  lovely  shapings  crystalline. 
All  these  are  forms  of  water — all  are  fair — 
And  see  " — he  pointed  to  the  other  side, 
Where,  opposite  the  opening  which  disclosed 
The  vaporous  river,  streamed  a  waterfall 
Of  slender  body  but  of  dizzy  height, 
Down-misting,  wide  out-streaming  from  th*e  rock 
Like  the  Swiss  Staubbach — "  see  yon  cataract 
(If  so  it  may  be  called),  how  it  melts  away 
To  rainbowed  mist  before  it  reaches  earth — 
Can  aught  in  nature  be  more  beautiful  ? 
Then  see  " — he  pointed  to  the  other  side — 
"  That  stream  of  volumed  fog  that  fills  yon  vale, 
Like  distant  river  rolling  dreamlike  on; 
And  see  " — and  now  he  pointed  overhead — 
"  Those  winged  waters  wafted  o'er  the  sky, 
Those  locked-up  lakes  afloat  through  heaven's  vault, 
Those  voyaging  reservoirs,  from  land  to  land 
Sailing;  those  cisterns  sealed,  which,  when  the  time 
Has  come,  will  pour  down  on  the  thirsty. fields 
Effusion  bland — are  they  not  beautiful  ?  " 

''Indeed  they  are,"  said  Mary,  smiling  sweet, 
"  Most  fair  are  clouds  whenever  they  appear, 


1 62  The  Flight  into  Egvpt. 

Except  when  blackening  into  thunderstorms; 
And  so  are  subterranean  streams,  if  we 
Could  see  them  with  the  eye  as  they  are  seen 
By  fancy,  flowing,  gurgling  up  and  down 
In  million-fold  meanders,  small  and  large, 
Vein  linked  to  vein,  a  labyrinthine  maze. 
Most  fair  is  water  e'en  when  forced  by  art 
To  rise  in  jets,  and,  arching  graceful  round, 
To  overflow,  and  fall  in  circular  sheet 
Around  a  marble  basin's  rounded  rim. 
Fair- is  it,  seen  from  airy  bridge's  arch, 
With  gentle  current  ever  gliding  on, 
Aye  coming,  going,  like  a  stream  of  thought; 
Fair,  when  in  graceful  aqueduct  it  bears 
The  mountain's  gelid  freshness  to  the  town. 
Before  the  earth  was  born,  and  all  was  void, 
God's  Spirit  moved  upon  the  water's  face. 
It  keeps  the  globe  we  live  on  fresh  and  green; 
It  bore  the  Ark  above  the  highest  hills; 
It  started  from  the  rock  at  Moses'  touch; 
It  purifies,  it  cleanses;  only  when 
It  stagnates,  does  it  lose  its  lustral  power, 
And  turn  to  poison.     I  have  said  enough." 


CANTO   II. 

HALT   BY   A    WAYSIDE   SPRING. 

tT  noon  they  reached  a  ridge  of  wooded  hills 
Which,  having  mounted,  on  the  other  side, 
Below  the  brow,  beneath  a  towering  rock, 
O'ercanopied  with  ivy  and  wild  vines, 
They  found  a  limpid  spring.     A  place  it  seemed 
Of  ancient  pilgrimage  and  rural  mirth; 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  163 

For,  all  around  it,  on  the  emerald  sward, 

Were  circles,  such  as  fairies  used  to  make 

Around  enchanted  fountain  and  green  mead, 

When  fairies  haunted  earth.     By  human  feet 

Those  rings  had  rounded  been;  though  at  the  time 

The  travelers  reached  them,  dancers  there  were  none. 

The  cool,  delicious  spot  invited  them 

With  voice  of  lapsing  waters,  tumbling  down 

The  slope  below  them,  and  with  whispering  leaves, 

Till  noonday  heats  were  passed,  to  check  their  course, 

To  slake  their  thirst,  and  to  enjoy  repose. 

Below  them,  in  the  distance,  pastoral  pipes 

Were  heard  in  dreamy  cadence  sweet  and  soft, 

Steeping  the  listener  most  deliciously 

In  happy  visions  of  the  Golden  Age, 

When  shepherds  all  were  blessed,  and  war  and  hate 

Were  names  unknown  on  earth. 

How  cool  that  fountain's  lymph;  how  musical 

Those  seven-reeded,  clear  Pandean  pipes; 

How  sweet  the  breath  of  wildflower-scented  breeze; 

How  soft  the  feel  of  turf  around  that  spring; 

How  cosily,  amid  the  clustering  leaves 

That  draped  the  rocks,  the  birds  peeped  from  their  nests ! 

All  the  five  inlets  of  the  human  temple, 

Like  the  five  portals  of  a  sacred  church, 

Received,  each  one,  its  pious  worshipers; 

The  senses  five  were  sated,  and  the  soul 

Sunk  in  elysian  dreams. 

The  Holy  Child, 

With  more  than  wonted  glee,  began  to  laugh, 

And  gambol  on  the  Virgin's  youthful  lap, 

Twisting  her  ringlets  into  lovelier  curls, 

Kissing  her  rosy  dimples — laughing  still — 

And  frolicking  with  ever-varying  wiles, 


1 64  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

As  joyous  children  do.     They  two,  the  Child 
And  the  Child's  Virgin  Mother,  sported  then, 
As  oft  two  angel-children  sport  in  heaven, 
When  circling  seraphs  drop  their  golden  harps, 
To  watch  their  innocent  gambols,  and  to  glad 
All  heaven  with  rosier  smiles. 

Joseph,  meanwhile, 

Low-seated  on  the  bench  of  turf,  looked  on, 
And  tears  of  ecstasy  came  oozing  forth. 
And,  as  they  trickled  down  his  ruddy  cheek, 
He  knew  not  whence  they  came.     How  his  big  heart, 
So  pure,  so  human,  throbbed  within  his  breast 
With  feelings  human-heavenly,  such  as  he 
Had  never  felt  before  or  had  conceived ! 
Soon  a  sweet,  wakeful  calm  crept  softly  o'er 
All  three,  broke  only  by  a  silent  gleam 
Of  happiness,  expressed  by  looks,  not  words, 
As  when,  o'er  twilight  heavens  some  summer  eve, 
Sweet  lightnings  play  without  the  smallest  sound 
Of  thunder  e'en  from  far;  such  was  the  calm 
Which  hushed  them,  sweeter  than  the  calm  of  sleep. 

Then,  wafted  on  an  aromatic  breeze, 
A  butterfly  of  exquisite  beauty  came 
And  lit  upon  the  Child-God's  little  hand, 
And  'gan  to  ope  and  shut  its  winglets  four, 
As  if  to  show  their  pictures  and  their  gloss. 
It  was  of  that  peculiar  kind  which  men 
Who  study  insects,  birds,  and  shells,  and  flowers, 
Have  named  Apollo;  white  its  silk-soft  wings, 
White  and  transparent  near  the  shapely  tips — 
Cream-white  all  four,  with  borders  velvet-black — 
And  on  the  lower  ones  two  beauty-spots 
Eye-shaped,  inclosed  in  carmine-colored  rings; 
The  spots  were  outlined  black,  cream-white  within — 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  165 

Type  of  the  spirit-eyes  within  the  soul. 
The  Infant  Savior  smiled — the  Virgin  smiled, 
And  still  the  painted  wonder  oped  and  closed 
Its  tiny  seraph-pinions. 

Then  the  Child, 

Watching  the  time  when  all  the  wings  were  raised 
Erect  above  its  back,  with  finger  and  thumb 
Of  his  right  hand  (it  rested  on  the  left) 
Seized  it  with  touch  so  exquisitely  soft, 
So  Godlike  delicate,  that  not  one  line 
Of  beauty  was  defaced — no,  not  one  hue 
Of  plumy  picturing  was  erased  or  smutched — 
And  ever  smiling  rosier  than  at  first, 
HE  raised  it  in  the  breeze,  and  left  it  free 
To  circle  heavenward.     Then  HE  clapped  his  hands 
Till  out  of  sight  it  floated,  like  a  boy 
Who,  on  some  dewy  morning,  sees  a  lark 
Soar,  jocund,  from  a  meadow  to  the  skies; 
Thus  flew  that  Psyche  from  the  Savior's  hand 
Freed,  freshened,  beautified,  more  buoyant  grown. 
Then  long  the  Virgin  Mother  mused  and  mused, 
And  still  the  charming  wonder  charmed  her  more, 
Till  fancy,  self-perplexed  and  riddle-bound, 
Dissolved  in  its  own  workings. 

Soon,  again, 

A  lovely  insect  lighted  on  the  Child, 
This  time,  a  seven-spotted  lady-bird.* 
The  mother,  then,  as  mothers  oft  are  wont, 
Began  to  count  the  mystic  spots  aloud, 
Bidding  the  Child  repeat  them  after  her, 
Thus  giving  him,  with  many  a  dimpled  smile, 
His  first  and  ne'er-forgotten  lesson  in 
The  holy  lore  of  numbers.     Soon  He  could 

*  Coccinella  septempunctata. 


1 66  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Re-word  them  without  error  up  to  seven, 
The  holiest  of  them  all,  as  then  was  thought. 

The  foster-sire,  seeing  how  quickly  He 
Treasured  the  numbered  spots  within  his  brain, 
Remembering  every  name  with  perfect  ease, 
Then  rising,  took  his  pilgrim's  staff  in  hand, 
And  bade  the  Mother  bear  the  CHILD  along 
To  where  a  little  patch  of  silvery  sand 
Had  bubbled  from  the  spring,  and  edged  its  brim, 
Forming  a  natural  tablet,  blank  and  clear — 
Then,  with  his  staff's  point,  marking  in  the  sand 
(As  ancient  sages  in  their  schools  were  wont 
When  teaching  mathematics),  drew  distinct 
The  sacred  Hebrew  letters,  one  by  one, 
From  Aleph  down  to  Heth,  and  spoke  aloud 
Each  letter's  name,  and  bade  the  Child  repeat 
Them  after  him,  with  voice  articulate 
As  childish  lips  could  speak  them— 
Then  bade  him  count  them — and  then  added  three 
Additional  letters— Heth,  Teth,  lastly  Jod, 
Telling  their  names  and  numbers  o'er  and  o'er — 
Then  held  his  twice  five  opened  fingers  up, 
And  counted  off  full  ten  upon  their  tips; 
And  so  the  Child  received  the  lesson  first 
In  these  mysterious  signs  which  are  the  keys 
To  unlock  the  doors  of  all  the  sciences, 
The  sacred  elements  which  spell  the  Word, 
The  marks  which  God  himself  impressed  on  stone 
With  His  own  finger — writing  down  His  Law. 

The  Child  seemed  much  delighted  with  the  task, 
And,  as  he  still  soft-babbled  o'er  and  o'er 
The  letters  and  the  figures,  holy  light 
'Gan  play  around  his  glossy  ringlets  bright, 
And  delicate  rainbows  (two  in  number)  came 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  167 

And  went,  vanished  and  formed,  appeared  and  dis- 

Appeared,  their  loveliness  increasing  with 

Each  change.     One,  ever  as  it  came,  displayed 

The  seven  listed  colors  oftenest  seen; 

The  other,  like  a  secondary  bow, 

More  striking  in  its  faintness,  showed  but  three, 

Together  forming  thus  the  cyclic  ten. 

Then  Joseph,  struck  with  wonder,  cried  aloud: 
"Palmoni,"  sinking  reverent  on  his  knees, 
And  breaking  forth  in  prayer  devout  and  deep.  • 

Behold !  along  the  winding  path,  which  led 
Up  from  the  valley,  came  two  shepherd  lads, 
Curly  and  blooming,  with  a  damsel  fair, 
Their  still  more  lovely  sister.     In  their  hands 
They  bore  sweet  pipes  with  seven-graded  reeds, 
And  baskets  full  of  fruit,  and  bread,  and  wine, 
Intending  by  that  airy  hill-top  fount 
To  feast  and  dance,  to  sing,  and  to  make  merry. 

Seeing  the  Holy  Family  by  the  spring, 
They  were  abashed,  and  turned  to  run  away; 
But  Mary  called  them  with  a  voice  so  sweet, 
They  needs  must  turn  again — and  Joseph  called — 
And  the  Child  called  as  loud  as  call  he  could 
(The  louder  still  the  sweeter),  and  they  came. 

They  came  with  baskets  full,  and  open  hearts, 
And  shared  the  bread  and  wine  with  those  they  loved, 
Though  strangers  to  them.     O,  communion  sweet! 
Of  wine  the  quantity  was  fitly  scant; 
The  parents,  being  good  and  pious  folk, 
According  to  their  gifts  of  time  and  place 
(They  lived  in  caves,  and  not  in  nomad  tents), 
Had  meted  out  such  portion  of  rich  wine 
(Mellowed  by  age)  as  might  suffice  to  give 
A  kind  of  consecration  to  the  feast. 


1 68  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

What  had  been  portioned  out  with  care  for  three, 
Of  course  was  still  more  scant  diffused  through  five, 
But  still  the  spirit-symbol  was  the  same — 
Blood  of  the  grape — and  that  of  choicest  kind — 
Old,  mellow,  purified,  and  fiery-bland, 
Drop-wise  effective.     Moderation  thus, 
Like  a  veiled  priestess,  with  clean  hands,  pure  heart, 
Abuses  not  the  gifts  which  serve  as  types 
Of  richer  gifts  stored  in  the  spirit-world. 

Thus,  having  feasted  with  their  new-found  friends, 
They  tuned  their  seven-stopped  pipes  and  played  their  best 
And  whilst  those  piped,  the  sweet,  gazelle-eyed  girl 
Sang  a  strange,  old-world  ditty,  which,  she  said, 
Had  chanted  been  by  damsels  ere  the  Flood. 
It  was  both  sad  and  sweet,  both  wild  and  soft, 
And  often,  with  its  simple  touches,  drew 
Tears  down  the  listener's  cheek. 

And  then  they  danced 

A  kind  of  fountain-dance  around  the  spring, 
More  gracefully  than  fairies  ever  danced, 
When  fairies  haunted  earth.     Scant  stock  of  dress 
Had  they  to  hide  the  beauties  of  their  forms; 
Bright  necklaces  of  berries  red  as  blood, 
Sheen  bracelets  of  pied  shells,  and  ankle-bells 
Of  silver,  which  they  tied  on  for  the  dance. 
Around  their  bodies  striped  tunics  gleamed, 
Leaving  their  arms  and  nether  members  bare 
Below  the  knee — all  nude  the  well-formed  feet, 
Except  the  damsel's;  she  wore  sandals  soft 
Of  doeskin;  wild  flowers  ranged  in  gay  festoons 
Adorned  her  waving  curls.     And  so  they  danced 
And  sang  and  played  for  many  a  jocund  hour, 
In  innocence  of  heart,  and  void  of  care. 
And  more  than  once,  the  Virgin,  carried  away 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  169 

By  her  fresh,  youthful  buoyancy  of  blood, 
Did  join  them  in  their  merry  roundelays, 
Dancing  and  chanting  with  as  light  a  heart, 
As  light  a  foot,  as  when  at  Nazareth, 
Five  years  before,  she  tripped  around  the  well 
With  all  her  young  companions. 

When  the  dance 

Was  ended,  and  the  tune  which  gave  it  life 
And  rhythmical 'being  had  attained  its  close, 
All  rested  on  the  turf  in  languor  sweet, 
Conversing  of  the  things  before  the  Flood; 
And  as  they  talked,  full  many  an  ancient  myth, 
Full  many  a  sacred  history,  true  as  life, 
Long  dormant  in  the  brain,  uprose  alive, 
With  all  its  epic  turns  and  lyric  bursts, 
Now  moving  on  in  words  of  home-sweet  prose, 
Now  soaring  up  on  wings  of  poesy. 
Once,  Mary  seized  the  maiden's  tambourine 
(In  old  times  called  a  timbrel),  then  began, 
In  sweetest  words  of  simple  narrative, 
To  tell  the  children  all  about  the  times 
When  Moses,  dry-shod,  passed  the  deep  Red  Sea, 
And  of  those  chariots  which  moved  heavily, 
Their  dragging  wheels  struck  off — and  of  the  waves 
That  walled  the  Hebrews  round  to  right  and  left — 
All  the  old  story,  old  but  ever  new; 
And  when  she  came  to  where  the  chant  was  sung, 
Then  Joseph's  pilgrim-staff  began  to  beat 
In  time,  his  foot  to  stamp  in  rhythmic  time, 
And  then  uprose  in  all  its  early  glow, 
The  oldest  song  e'er  written  down  in  words 
Since  the  creation  of  this  rolling  globe, 
Mary  with  voice  and  clashing  timbrel-bells, 
With  hand  accordant  and  uprisen  form, 


1 70  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Sounding  the  lofty  chorus: 

"  Sing  to  the  Lord, 

For  he  hath  triumphed  gloriously;  the  horse, 
And  eke  the  horse's  rider,  hath  He  thrown 
Deep  whelmed  beneath  the  sea." 
Like  Miriam  dancing  by  the  Red  seaside, 
With  strains  triumphal  'midst  her  timbreled  throng, 
What  time  the  tide  at  flow  came  heaving  on 
O'er  the  dread  wreck-strewn  shore,  uptossing  still 
More  carcasses  with  tangled  seaweed  wreathed, 
More  broken  chariot-wheels,  more  shattered  limbs, 
More  steeds  dead  drifting  on  the  moaning  flood; 
Like  Miriam  seemed  the  Virgin  as  she  sang, 
And  struck  high  music  from  the  tambourine. 
At  last  the  lads  and  their  sweet,  black-eyed  sister 
Rose  to  go.     The  Virgin  kissed  the  lass, 
And  blessed  the  merry  boys,  and  ere  they  went 
The  damsel  kissed  the  Holy  Child's  sweet  lips, 
And  then  they  scampered  down  the  steep  hillside, 
Having  in  very  play  imbibed  some  rays 
Of  grace  divine  which  blessed  them  all  their  lives. 

Beyond  the  fount  a  thorny  shrub  there  stood, 
With  spines  and  blossoms  armed  and  beautified, 
In  midst  of  which  a  nest  was  cunningly  hid, 
Built  by  a  goldfinch.     All  without  'twas  lined 
With  moss,  with  lichen,  and  with  woven  grass, 
Within  with  hair  and  wool  and  swallows'  down. 
Five  young  were  lodged  within  its  concave  cradle, 
As  yet  not  fully  fledged.     Incessant  came  and  went 
The  careful  parents,  bringing  to  their  brood 
The  needful  nutriment.     The  foster-sire, 
To  please  the  Child,  and  show  him  the  sweet  ways 
Of  loving  winged  things,  uplifted  him 
Upon  his  stalwart  shoulder,  Atlas-like, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  171 

And  bade  him  peep  into  the  blossomed  nest, 

All  guarded  round  with  thorns.     Much  was  he  pleased 

To  hear  the  chirping,  see  the  open  mouths, 

And  list  the  pleasant  songs  the  parents  sang 

When  resting  for  a  moment  on  the  boughs 

They  raised  such  tuneful  warbling.     Strange  it  was 

To  see  the  Master  of  Life,  enshrined  within 

An  infant's  tiny,  tender  form,  and  made 

Amenable  to  laws  of  human  growth, 

Thus  gazing  on  the  things  Himself  had  fashioned, 

With  all  an  infant's  wonder. 

Ere  long  the  Virgin  said :  "  I  feel  to-day 

All  wide  awake.     Sleep  therefore  thou  a  time. 

The  more  the  toil,  the  more  the  need  of  rest. 

Only  that  I  may  pass  the  interval 

More  pleasantly,  please  give  me  from  thy  rolls 

Of  sacred  writing,  the  sweet  book  of  Ruth. 

We  can  not  now,  I  think,  be  distant  far 

From  where  she  and  Naomi  once  abode. 

This  precious  lambkin,  too,  is  slumbrous  now; 

See  how  he  winks  his  eyes,  and  smiles  like  one 

Soft  lapsing  to  the  heaven  of  lulling  sleep. 

Give  me  the  book,  I  pray,  then  seek  repose." 

He  did  as  she  requested.     By  the  spring 
He  stretched  his  limbs  along  the  flowery  sward, 
And  soon  was  sunk  to  slumber.     Jesus,  too, 
Upon  his  Mother's  lap  fell  deep  asleep. 

Then  sitting  on  that  lone  hill-top,  with  scroll 
As  yet  unopened  in  her  hand,  there  came 
A  meditative  mood  upon  her  soul, 
Which  led  her  fancy  back  to  times  remote, 
And  bade  her  spirit  brood  with  dove-like  wings 
Upon  the  black  chaotic  waves  which  once 
Billowed  dark-surging  o'er  the  formless  void. 


172  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Then  thought  she  of  the  flood,  the  drifting  ark, 

The  waters  rising  o'er  the  highest  hills, 

Of  Noah  and  his  sons,  and  the  long  tract 

Of  intervening  time  till  her  own  days; 

And  how  from  evil  good  was  still  evolved, 

And  how  from  fields  of  poisonous  bitter  weeds, 

A  charming  flower  had  sprung — and  that  was  Ruth. 

From  Ruth,  the  Moabitess,  Obed  came, 

From  Obed  Jesse,  and  from  Jesse  him 

Who  slew  Goliah  with  a  pebble-stone; 

Thus  link  by  link  the  golden  chain  was  forged, 

Which  drew  down  God's  own  essence  from  above, 

To  purify  the  moral  atmosphere, 

To  scathe  or  heal,  to  wither  or  revive. 

Then  opened  she  the  writing  in  her  hand, 
And  while  the  sleepers  slumbered  'neath  her  eye, 
And  while  the  goldfinch  fed  her  hungry  young, 
And  while  sweet  lady-birds  sat  on  her  page, 
And  whilst  a  distant  Pan's  pipe  tuned  the  air, 
She  read,  now  hushed,  now  humming  to  herself, 
The  sweetest  pastoral  story  ever  penned. 

And  more  than  once  she  turned  her  glance  aside 
From  the  old  Hebrew  words  beneath  her  eye, 
To  mark  the  manly  form  of  him  who  lay 
Stretched  out  among  the  flowers  beside  the  spring. 
Her  earthly  guide  and  guardian  was  he. 
How  noble  looked  his  features  e'en  in  sleep, 
How  grand,  how  innocent,  how  free  from  guile, 
How  fearless  and  how  manly.     As  a  friend 
Sent  down  from  heaven  she  looked  upon  him  then, 
And  silently  thanked  heaven  for  such  a  friend; 
And  in  her  inmost  heart  she  felt  for  him 
As  she  had  felt  for  Holy  Gabriel,  when 
He  came  t' announce,  of  all  events,  the  greatest, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  173 

The  birth  of  HI  INI  who  should  renew  the  world. 

A  spirit-sympathy  united  them, 

And  held  them  spell-bound  in  a  golden  world, 

Like  that  which  came  before  the  silver  one, 

And  banished  from  their  hearts  all  earthiness, 

And  placed  them  in  a  second  Paradise, 

An  Eden,  which  moved  with  them  as  they  moved, 

Stood  when  they  stood,  and  breathed  around  them  airs 

From  heaven,  and  bathed  them  in  the  lustral  founts, 

Which  flow  invisibly  from  God's  own  throne, 

And  drew  around  them,  everywhere  they  went, 

An  angel's  magic  circle,  o'er  whose  bounds 

No  wanton  thought,  no  evil  influence, 

Dare  for  a  moment  enter. 

Thus  she  mused, 

And  read  and  mused,  in  lonely  wakefulness, 
The  dear  ones  sleeping  near  her.     Calm  and  sweet 
The  minutes  followed  minutes,  till  two  hours 
Had  made  the  shadows  longer.     Then  her  guide, 
Refreshed  and  vigorous,  roused  himself  from  sleep, 
And  soon  their  wandering  commenced  anew. 


CANTO  III. 

THE     SERPENT. 

hours  they  traveled  o'er  that  border-land, 
Half  desert  and  half  prairie,  till  their  shadows, 
Aye  lengthening  as  the  afternoon  advanced, 
Sloped  eastward,  growing  longer  every  step. 
Joseph,  refreshened  by  his  noonday  sleep, 
And  by  the  bread  and  wine  the  children  brought  them, 
And  by  the  holy  singing  on  the  hill, 
Was  blithe  beyond  his  wont.     Like  roses  glowed 


1 74  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

His  healthy  cheeks,  like  altar-lights  his  eyes; 

His  face  at  no  time  was  like  moon  eclipsed 

Made  somber  by  earth's  shadow — it  was  like 

The  sun  of  spring,  which  loves  to  fringe  with  gold 

Or  silvery  gauze  each  cloud  that  intervenes 

Between  himself  and  this,  our  mortal  home. 

If  saintlike  ever,  then  most  saintlike  he, 

When  bursting  into  smiles.     The  clear-obscure. 

Of  full-orbed  manhood  ever  made  him  ready 

To  weep  with  those  who  wept,  and  laugh  with  those 

Whose  hearts  o'erflowed  with  joy.     The  Mother-maid 

Was  tempered  also  thus;  e'en  when  at  times 

A  pensiveness  came  o'er  her,  making  her  droop, 

The  falling  tear  quick  turned  to  gleaming  pearl; 

An  infant's  laugh,  or  sudden  smile  from  Hoi 

Or  him,  quick  brightened  up  her  cheek, 

Her  eye,  and  made  her  full  of  holy  mirth, 

Like  weeping-elm  when  sunrise  glisters  through  it, 

Or  like  a  weeping  willow  seen  in  May, 

\Vhen  passing  showers  besprinkle  it  with  drops. 

And  sun  and  rain  contend  for  mastery. 

At  last  they  reached  a  sandy,  circular  plain, 

More  than  a  score  of  arrow-flights  across 

From  end  to  end.     Within  its  center  rose 

An  isolated  rock,  which  seemed  as  'twere 

A  natural  pyramid  which  antique  art 

Had  excavated  into  halls  and  rooms, 

And  used  it  as  a  temple.     Five  score  feet 

Or  more  it  rose  above  the  sandy  cirque. 

Thither  the  travelers  wended,  both  for  rest 
And  water,  hoping  there  to  find  a  spring; 
For  Joseph  had  beheld  a  palm-tree  near, 
And  knew  that  when  on  sandy  spots  that  tree 
Is  seen,  a  fount  is  not  far  off.     As  onwards 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  175 

With  silent  pace  they  moved,  and  with  slow  step. 
The  hot  sun  blazing  with  declining  ray, 
In  norizontal  splendor  o'er  the  sand, 
It  seemed  to  Joseph  like  a  faint  foretaste 
Of  deserts  further  south,  deserts  immense, 
Which  they  were  doomed  to  pass. 

Reaching  the  rock. 

They  found  beside  its  base  an  olive  tree, 
A  wild  one,  old  and  knotty,  dry  and  gnarled, 
Whose  roots,  intwisted  in  the  crevices, 
Drew  thence  their  scanty  nurture.     The  old  rock 
Had  rough,  rude  steps  cut  on  three  sides  of  it, 
Which  led  respectively  to  three  niched  seats, 
Affording  thus  a  chance,  to  those  who  scaled  it, 
Of  shelter  from  the  sun  or  driving  rain. 
Beneath  its  base  upbubbled  a  scant  spring, 
Which,  trickling  onwards,  scarce  reached  eighty  yards 
Ere  it  wras  swallowed  up  by  thirsty  sands. 
Around  the  rock,  and  by  the  slender  rill, 
Some  spots  of  green  refreshed  the  eye  fatigued, 
Some  blossoming  oleanders,  a  few  brooms, 
And  one  poor,  barren  fig-tree.     But  what  most 
Caught  the  lone  wanderer's  gaze  in  that  wild  place, 
Was  an  unmated  palm-tree — barren,  too. 
Add  to  these  plants  some  twining,  prickly  stems, 
A  score  of  sweetbriers  with  more  spines  than  flowers, 
And  a  few  specimens  of  that  thorny  vine 
From  which,  in  after  years,  a  crown  was  woven 
For  Jesus'  holy  brow — and  you  have  all — 
Save  growth  of  little  wild  flowers  in  the  grass, 
Tiny  in  size  and  inconspicuous, 
But,  when  minutely  scanned,  most  beautiful. 
Such  was  the  prospect  near — but  far  away, 
To  one  upperched  upon  that  airy  rock, 


1 76  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

North-eastward  rose  tall  mountains  veiled  in  mist 
Beyond  the  lake  of  Sodom.     Near  the  rim 
Of  sand  itself  were  seen,  in  closer  view, 
Farms,  pasture-lands,  and  cultivated  fields, 
And  villages  on  hill-tops.     The  strange  place, 
Ringed  as  it  was  with  cirques  of  torrid  sand, 
And  overwaved  by  streams  of  heated  air, 
Reminds  us  of  a  scene  in  the  far  west, 
When  Indian  hunters,  gathered  in  a  group, 
Because  the  kindled  prairie  is  on  fire, 
Stand  on  a  knoll  made  bare  of  prairie-grass, 
And  feeling  thus  fire-proof,  behold  around 
The  billowy  conflagration  spreading  far. 

Arrived — the  ass,  unsaddled,  was  turned  loose 
To  wander  'midst  the  grass  and  flowers  at  will, 
When  Joseph,  swift  (for  he  was  smit  with  thirst), 
Took  from  his  traveling-sack  a  drinking-cup 
(A  golden  cup  it  was,  most  rich  and  bright — 
One  of  the  many  presents  from  the  kings 
Who  traveled  from  the  East  to  see  their  Lord), 
And,  placing  it  some  minutes  in  the  spring, 
To  cool  the  metal  which  the  sun  had  warmed, 
Bore  it,  untasted  (though  half  dead  with  thirst), 
To  the  Madonna,  standing  'neath  the  palm. 
Then  she,  though  equally  athirst  and  faint, 
With  not  one  drop  yet  tasted,  held  it  quick 
To  His  lips,  whence  aye  living  waters  flow, 
And  ever  shall  flow  whilst  this  earth  endures,    ' 
And  ever  after. 

The  Holy  Infant  drank,  the  Mother  drank, 
Then  gently  passed  it  to  the  foster-sire, 
Who  quaffed  all  that  remained — then  went  for  more — 
Such  sweet,  unselfish  interchange  of  love 
United  those  three  innocent  hearts  in  one. 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  177 

Longer  this  time  he  loitered  by  the  spring, 
Cooling  his  heated  wrists,  and  culling  flowers. 
When  he  returned,  how  great  was  his  affright, 
To  view  the  Virgin  Mother,  with  her  face 
Turned  fountwards,  and  her  eyes  uplift  to  heaven, 
Like  one  in  holy  trance;  whilst  by  her  side, 
Somewhat  behind  her,  sported  the  Child-God, 
All  fearless  on  the  grass;  a  monstrous  snake 
Behind  them,  vast  in  bulk,  and  venomous, 
Vibrating  a  triple  tongue,  lay  there  upcoiled, 
.  All  ready  for  the  spring. 

Quick,  quick  as  thought,  gaining  his  wonted  manhood, 
Then  Joseph  reared  his  pilgrim's  staff  aloft, 
And  striking  the  poisonous  monster  on  the  head, 
With  one  blow  dashed  its  life  out.     With  a  start 
Then  Mary  looking  suddenly  round 
Beheld  the  prostrate  snake,  upsnatched  her  child, 
And  clasped  him  to  her  breast,  with  pallid  cheek, 
And  limbs  all  over  trembling. 

Joseph,  meanwhile,  having  found  a  fallen  branch, 
Lifted  the  ghastly  serpent  from  the  ground 
In  part,  in  part  he  trailed  it  by  the  brook 
(The  tail  still  wreathing  with_  remains  of  life), 
And  tossed  it  in  the  thorns. 
Another  brimful  cup  he  then  scooped  up, 
And  bade  the  Blessed  Virgin  pour  it  on 
His  outstretched  hands,  the  which  he  washed,  I  ween, 
With  right  good  will.     The  lustral  wave,  down-poured 
By  an  Immaculate  Virgin,  did  its  work 
Of  cleansing,  and,  the  whilst  it  did  so,  he 
Thought  it  a  type,  a  symbol  of  much  good. 
And  then  his  trusty  pilgrim's  staff  he  laid 
Within  the  brook,  some  distance  from  the  spring, 
Lest  one  small  drop  of  venom  might  pollute  it, 
13 


178  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

There  to  be  cleansed  by  holy  water's  power. 

This  done,  with  one  spontaneous  act,  they  both 
Knelt  on  the  sward,  and  both  with  clasped  hands, 
Close  side  by  side,  praised  God  with  fervid  prayer. 
Then  up  the  rock  they  mounted,  step  by  step, 
He  bearing  in  his  arms,  with  tenderest  care, 
His  sacred  charge.     The  ascent  was  somewhat  steep, 
Though  fraught  with  little  actual  danger.     Near 
The  top,  they  found  a  cozy  seat  of  stone, 
Where  comfortably  perched,  they  gazed  around 
Upon  the  curious  landscape,  far  and  near. 
"  If  I  mistake  not,"  said  the  faithful  man, 
"  Yon  peak  which  melts  so  softly  in  the  distance, 
Is  that  whereon  our  holy  Moses  died, 
When  from  its  top  he  had  scanned  the  Promised  Land.' 
He  pointed  to  the  far  north-east;  she  gazed 
In  silence;  thought  on  thought  rolled  through  her  soul, 
Almost  impictured  in  her  heavenly  eyes. 
After  due  time,  with  gentle  voice,  she  begged  him 
To  end  the  narrative  he  had  commenced, 
Touching  the  night  he  spent  upon  the  roof 
Of  the  scarce-finished  temple.     Willingly 
He  with  her  soft  request  complied,  and  'gan 
Where  he  had  ended  many  days  before. 


CANTO   IV. 

KEDAR,  THE  WILD   HALF-BREED. 

toT  many  words  he  spoke  before  he  spied 
^o.  A  figure  moving  fleetly  o'er  the  sands, 
And  making  towards  the  rock.     It  was  a  lad, 
Who  might  have  numbered  twice  seven  years  perhaps, 
Unkempt  and  wild  in  his  appearance.     He 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  179 

Bestrode  a  piebald  mule,  whose  springy  hoofs 
And  fine  elastic  pasterns  bore  him  on, 
Wind-swift,  across  the  sand;  no  saddle  had  he, 
His  only  bridle-reins,  a  halter,  made 
Of  firmly-twisted  fibers  of  the  palm.     ' 
The  mule  was  painted  (all  by  nature's  hand) 
With  fine  fantastic  flecks  and  curious  stripes, 
Much  like  a  zebra.     Bare-armed  was  the  lad, 
Bare-legged,  bare-footed,  with  a  kerchief  red 
Wound  round  his  elfish  locks;  an  ostrich-plume 
Waved  jauntily  above  his  swarthy  brow; 
A  bow  of  wild-goat's  horn  was  in  his  hand, 
And  on  his  back  a  well-filled  quiver  hung. 
Sometimes  before,  sometimes  behind  him  ran 
A  fleet-foot  dog,  that  seemed  of  mingled  blood, 
Half  greyhound  and  half  shepherd.     Stopping  'neath 
The  rock,  the  boy,  with  ringing  shout,  called  out: 
"Hail,  father,  peace  be  with  thee.     Spare  my  throat 
And  thine,  and  coming  half-way  down  the  steps, 
Pray  let  us  hold  a  parley  at  our  ease." 

Joseph  obeyed;  then  said  the  lad,  in  haste: 
"I  am  in  search  of  mules  and  asses  gone 
Astray;  since  yester  eve  they  wandered  off; 
Mayhap  hast  seen  them  in  thy  journeying?" 
"I  have  not  seen  what  seemed  to  be  stray  mules 
Or  asses,"  was  the  answer.     "I  must  find  them," 
The  lad  replied;  "the   hunt  commenced,  must  be 
Continued.     O,  the  cursed  runaways! 
Azazel  foul  confound  them.     Ha!  I  see 
Thou  hast  a  handsome  beast.     As  white  as  milk, 
With  tapering  limbs  and  fine-turned  head.    What  boot' — 
Here  he  laughed  merrily — "  what  boot,  what  boot  ? 
My  mule  is  almost  worth  her  weight  in  gold. 
O,  thou  shouldst  see  her  when  we  hunt  gazelles ! 


180  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Down  steepest  hills  full  speed  she  gallops  on, 

O'er  rolling  stones  or  sliding,  slippery  sand. 

She  can  outstrip  the  ostrich.     Say,  wilt  trade  ? " 

"  Not  I,"  said  Joseph,  smiling.     "Ishmaelite — 

Not  so?"     "  Not  quite/'  replied  the  lad;  "I  am 

By  some  called  a  wild  half-breed,  living  here 

On  the  edge  o'  the  border-land.     My  mother  was 

Born  in  a  tent,  and  lived  for  sixteen  years 

A  wanderer  o'er  the  sands.     A  jolly  life! 

A  wild,  aye-roving  tent  life,  that's  the  life 

For  me.     My  father  owns  a  farm-house;  he 

Takes  more  delight  to  doze  away  his  days 

Beneath  his  vines  and  fig-trees.     Thrice  a  year 

He  journeys  to  Jerusalem  to  pray, 

And  offer  sacrifice,  and  free-will  offerings, 

And  tithes,  and  firstlings  of  the  flock  and  field. 

Tell  me,  dost  know  the  name  of  yonder  fount?" 

"Indeed  I  do  not,"  answered  Joseph;  "tell  me." 

"  The  Fount  of  Halves.    Twelve  hours  it  runs,  and  twelve 

Ebbs  down  to  nothing;  nay,  more;  half  the  year 

It  flows  in  this  half-wise  and  half  goes  dry. 

A  niggard  fountain-head  it  may  be  called. 

No  wonder  here  a  barren  olive  stands, 

A  barren  fig-tree  there,  a  barren  palm 

Yonder.    Good  heavens!  there's  something  glittering  there 

Beside  the  spring.     A  drinking-cup.     Ho!  ho! 

How  beautiful!     Pure  gold,  pure  gold — how  rich!  " 

Whereat  he  slid  flash-quick  down  from  his  mule, 
Seized  the  rich  prize,  and  eyed  it  round  and  round. 
Gazing  upon  it  swift  without,  within; 
Then  dipped  it  in  the  spring,  and  drank,  and  gazed, 
And  gazed  and  drank  again  with  deep  delight. 

"  Whence  came  it  ? "  then  he  asked,  with  eagerness. 
"  Was  it  the  work  of  sprites  in  some  far  land 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  181 

Nearer  the  rising  sun  ?     Its  work  embossed 

Enchants  me,  and  I  dream  of  something  strange 

And  new,  and  wonderful  beyond  all  thought. 

Magical — magical,  ay,  that's  the  word. 

I've  heard  strange  stories  told  beside  the  fire 

At  night  by  camel  drivers,  when  they  pause 

To  rest  upon  the  sands;  stories  most  strange, 

Of  genii  and  enchanters,  far  renowned, 

Who,  by  their  skill,  make  things  of  potent  charm, 

Which  even  spirits  obey.     Is  this  one  of 

Those  wonder-working  talismans?     But,  no, 

My  foolish  fancy  oft  leads  me  astray. 

'Tis  a  rich  drinking  cup,  and  nothing  more. 

Now  listen,  stranger,  I  will  give  you  for  it 

My  mule,  my  dog,  my  bow,  my  ostrich  plume, 

All  that  I  have,  for  this  one  drinking-cup. 

Come,  come!  that's  fair.     Say,  wilt  thou  trade  for  it  ?  " 

"Not  for  all  these,  and  all  your  father  owns 
Besides  in  land,  in  flocks,  in  herds,  in  grain, 
With  ten  times  more  added  to  the  full  sum, 
And  ten  times  ten  times  all  owned  by  the  tribe 
From  which  your  mother  sprang,  could  all  this  be 
Massed  in  one  heap,  and  all  that  heap  increased, 
By  some  strange  magic  power,  a  hundred-fold, 
I  would  not  let  you  have  that  drinking-cup. 
'Tis  worth  more  than  its  weight,  as  men  say,  in  gold. 
It  has  a  history  belonging  to  it." 
"Do  tell  me  that  strange  history,"  said  the  lad; 
"  I'd  give  my  mule  to  hear  it." 

"  I  dare  not  tell  it,"  was  the  quick  reply. 
' '  Not  ?    Then  the  swiftest  and  the  cunningest 
Shall  bear  it  off  as  prize."     And  as  he  spoke 
He  vaulted  on  his  mule,  with  cup  in  hand. 
And,  standing  upright  on  the  creature's  back, 


1 82  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

As  does  a  clown  in  some  equestrian  cirque, 

He  held  it  up  with  archly  winking  face, 

In  which  sly  roguery  and  daring  fun 

Were  blended  equally,  then  slipt  adown 

Into  his  seat,  and  shouting  to  the  mule, 

Off  like  the  wind  he  scampered.     Bowshots  two 

In  length  he  raced  along  the  sands,  then  wheeled, 

And  posting  back  with  the  same  madcap  pace, 

Just  'neath  the  spot  where  Joseph  stood,  drew  rein. 

Again  he  stood  up  clown-like  on  the  beast, 

Which  stopt  as  still  as  any  marble  mule, 

And  on  his  face  were  pictured  curiously 

Commingled  moods  and  swiftly-passing  trains 

Of  varying  emotions,  shifting  ever: 

Whim,  fun,  deep  inborn  gift  of  thievery, 

Sucked  in  with  mother's  milk;  and  mixed  with  these, 

A  trace  or  two  of  pious  reverence 

(Perhaps  caught  from  his  father). 

He  waved  the  cup  aloft  and  said  aloud: 

"How  easy  even  now  this  cup  were  mine. 

Behold  yon  wooded  hills  skirting  the  south, 

I  know  each  winding  glen  and  narrowing  gorge, 

And  every  cave  and  hiding-place  among  them, 

Where  sheltering  I  might  lurk,  and  thence  might  reach 

The  pathless  wilderness.     This  thing  would  then 

Be  mine,  and  Kedar,  all  the  rest  of  life, 

Most  rich  in  flocks  and  herds.     The  sale  of  this 

Would  give  me  wherewithal  to  purchase  mares 

Of  purest  Arab  blood,  and  domedaries, 

And  tents  and  wives,  and  make  me,  ere  my  death, 

Like  one  of  those  rich  patriarchs  that  we  read  of, 

Who  lived  in  olden  times,  as  tells  the  Book. 

With  such  a  start,  wealth  like  the  wealth  of  Job, 

Would  soon  pour  in.     Now,  Kedar  's  a  poor  lad, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  183 

With  naught  but  mule  and  dog  and  dancing  plume, 
With  goathorn  bow  and  quiver;  poor,  but  honest — 
Poor  Kedar!  honest,  simple-hearted  Kedar." 

This  saying,  with  tears  and  laughter  strangely  mixed, 
He  held  the  cup  aloft,  and  Joseph,  stepping 
Down  the  stone  stairs,  placed  in  his  hand  a  coin 
Of  shining  gold,  and  on  his  head  his  hand 
He  laid,  and  blessed  him  thrice  with  eyes  upraised. 
The  boy,  with  look  subdued  and  eyelash  sunk, 
Received  the  kindly  blessing;  then  he  wiped 
A  trickling  tear  from  off  his  tawny  cheek, 
And  once  again  dismounted  from  his  mule, 
While  Joseph  step  by  step  slow  journeyed  upwards. 
Kedar  with  quick  eye  glanced  from  him  to  the  top, 
And  viewing  there,  enthroned  in  upper  air, 
A  female  form  (young  Kedar's  eyes  were  keen, 
Nay,  almost  telescopic  in  their  power) 
And  seeing  there  the  loveliest  face  unveiled 
That  ever  yet  his  eye  had  lit  upon, 
His  orient  fancy,  kindling  to  full  glow. 
Took  her  for  spirit  dropt  from  highest  heaven, 
And  when,  as  in  a  trance  he  saw  her  gazing 
Far,  far  away  across  the  sands,  across 
The  stagnant  waters  of  the  Sea  of  Death, 
With  eye  fixed  on  the  Mount  where  Moses  died, 
Kedar  no  longer  could  withstand — he  sank 
Upon  his  tawny  knees  and  worshiped  her. 
This  was  the  turning-point  in  Kedar's  life. 
Glance  we  a  moment  at  his  after  years 
As  vision  represents  them  to  the  view. 
The  touch  of  Joseph's  hand,  his  deep-toned  voice, 
His  blessing  and  his  prayer  commenced  the  change, 
And  drove  some  evil  demons  from  his  breast; 
Then,  the  remembrance  of  an  honest  deed, 


1 84  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Of  a  temptation  nobly  overcome, 

Soothed  his  whole  being"  with  a  joy  ne'er  felt 

Before  in  his  wild  life;  good  feelings  took 

The  place  of  wicked  ones  expelled ;  and  then 

The  sight  of  that  all-lovely  Lady  on 

The  Mount,  built  up  the  keystone  of  the  arch 

Of  his  conversion  from  a  semi-savage 

To  a  true,  honest  man.     Soon  all  his  ways 

Were  other  than  they  had  been,  all  his  thoughts. 

His  father,  seeing  the  happy  change  commenced, 

Did  all  he  could  to  foster  it.     He  sold 

His  frontier  farm  and  traveled  to  the  north; 

With  joy  he  left  the  reckless  borderland, 

And  settled  in  the  quiet  hill-country 

Not  many  miles  from  Hebron. 

Kedar  there 

Became  in  time  a  husbandman  so  true, 
So  honest,  upright,  and  so  holy-hearted, 
That  all  men  far  and  near  respected  him. 
For  wife  he  gained  a  pious  Hebrew  maid 
Untainted  by  a  drop  of  Ishmael's  blood, 
Who  loved  him  better  than  she  loved  herself, 
And  bore  him  every  other  year  a  son 
Until  they  counted  six,  six  blooming  boys. 
Then  every  other  year  she  bore  a  daughter, 
Until  they  numbered  six — the  sixth  her  last. 
All  comely-featured,  eastern-eyed  brunettes, 
With  arching  eyebrows  and  a  rich-hued  skin, 
Six  yellow  peaches,  all  with  cheeks  of  red. 
And  thus  his  charming  flock  was  full,  complete, 
Twelve  by  the  count,  and  twelve  upon  his  heart, 
Like  the  twelve  jewels  on  the  High-priest's  breast. 
They  were  in  fact  to  him  twelve  little  stars, 
The  lovely  zodiac  of  his  household  heaven. 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  185 

When  he  had  reached  his  seven  and  fortieth  year, 
Kedar,  as  was  his  wont,  with  all  the  twelve, 
Went  to  Jerusalem  to  celebrate 
The  Passover.     His  ample  tent  he  pitched 
On  holy  Olivet  on  a  high  point, 
From  which  a  spacious  prospect  on  all  sides 
Expanded  to  the  view,  the  city  seen 
Across  'the  brook  of  Kedron,  holy  Mount 
Of  Zion,  and  the  Temple  on  Moriah, 
All  bright  and  hallowed  objects  to  the  eye, 
And  on  the  other  side  the  salt  Dead  Sea. 

One  day,  a  memorable  day  for  him, 
He  saw  the  Lord  of  Life  and  Light,  enshrined 
In  human  flesh.     Then  grew  the  change  complete. 
The  wild,  light-fingered  rover  of  the  sands, 
Who  had  once  borne  the  holy  cup  away, 
And  had  returned  it,  changing  ever  still, 
Now  found  the  consummation  of  that  change 
Complete  and  most  delighful.     How  HIS  words 
Refreshed,  like  morning  dew,  his  open  heart; 
How,  as  he  heard  them,  did  his  spirit  burn 
Within  him,  as  if  live  coals  from  the  altar, 
With  holiest  incense  mingled,  kindled  him, 
And  made  him  long  for  heaven! 

HIS  words  he  heard, 
Beheld  His  miracles,  believed  His  power, 
Received  His  blessing,  and  was  blessed  indeed. 
The  Savior's  twelve  felt  often  not  too  proud 
To  sing  and  pray  with  his,  and  when  he  left 
The  Olive  Mount  and  reached  his  happy  home, 
It  seemed  a  holier  home  to  all  of  them — 
A  holier  and  a  sweeter.     Counting  then, 
He  counted  one  by  one  the  starry  twelve, 
And  lo!  not  one  was  lost.     Here  let  us  pause, 
The  coming  canto  needs  a  brain  refreshed. 


1 86  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

CANTO  V. 

THE  TWO  JOSEPHS. 

isolated  hill  it  was,  at  first 
Rising  sharp-pointed  from  the  cirque  of  sand, 
A  sort  of  natural  obelisk,  the  work 
Of  spent  volcanic  forces  weird  and  wild, 
By  Superstition's  hand  in  after  years 
Changed  in  appearance;  this  had  carved  those  steps 
Rude  winding  upward,  flattened  its  peaked  top, 
And  made  it  look,  to  one  who  from  below 
Viewed  it,  a  rude  truncated  pyramid 
Devoted  to  dark  rites  and  Pagan  gods. 
A  half  a  score  of  paces  from  the  top 
An  excavated  chamber  might  be  seen, 
Rotunda-shaped,  with  dome-like  vault  above, 
Marked  over  with  inscriptions  old  and  dim, 
In  unknown  characters  and  pictures  rude. 
Of  these,  one  form  was  oftentimes  repeated, 
A  female  head,  arched  with  a  belt  of  stars, 
And  having  on  her  front  a  crescent  moon. 
When  twilight  'gan  to  darken  into  night 
Joseph  lit  up  his  torch,  and  stepping  in 
The  antique  chapel,  viewed  it  round  and  round, 
And  found  it  empty  quite,  quite  hushed  and  still. 
Assured  that  all  was  safe,  he  straightway  led 
The  Virgin  in,  and  showed  her  all  the  place 
By  torchlight.     Much  she  shuddered  when  at  first 
She  viewed  those  mystic  letters,  half  erased, 
Like  those  inscribed  upon  the  Moab  Stone 
Which  modern  brains  have  recently  unlocked; 
And  much  the  Blessed  Virgin  feared  at  first 
Lest  something  all-unholy  haunted  there, 
Making  that  round  fane  frightful.     But  when  he 
Who  acted  as  her  pilot  and  her  guide, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  187 

Assured  her  it  was  safe  and  free  from  harm, 

And  pointed  to  a  little  open  platform 

Three  steps  below,  where  he  would  make  his  couch, 

Thus  intercepting  danger  from  the  earth, 

She  gave  her  glad  consent  to  slumber  there. 

With  care  he  spread  her  pictured  carpet  down 
Near  the  fane's  center,  ranged  her  pillows  soft, 
And  having  fixt  the  lighted  torch  securely 
In  an  old  fissure  in  the  rock,  he  read 
A  portion  of  the  Holy  Word,  and  sang 
And  prayed,  and  prayed  and  sang  again, 
Then  leaving  there  the  torch  to  cheer  the  place, 
He  bade  her  sweet  good  night,  adding  that  he 
Would  mount  to  the  summit  of  the  obelisk 
Like  watchman  on  his  watch-tower,  to  survey 
The  concave  heavens  above,  the  earth  beneath. 

As  sleep  oftimes  appears  to  mimic  Death, 
In  its  deep  quiet  and  passivity, 
So,  like  its  stronger  brother,  it  is  wont 
To  wrap  its  limbs  in  other  garbs  than  those 
Which  waking  life  assumes.     In  linen  fresh 
And  fragrant,  white  and  pure,  she  robed  her  form, 
Too  loose  t'  impede  the  blood,  and  sprinkled  o'er 
With  aromatic  drops, 
Ottar  of  roses  and  sweet  lavender, 
To  make  her  slumber  balmier;  then  she  couched 
Her  form  for  rest,  soft  clasped  her  virgin  palms, 
And  breathed  another  prayer  in  dulcet  words: 

"  Eternal  Father  of  the  universe, 
In  thy  hands  I  resign  thy  Son  and  mine. 
I  know  Thou  wilt  protect  Him  from  all  harm; 
And  this,  thy  humble  handmaid,  shield  her  too. 
Here  in  the  center  of  this  antique  fane, 
Once  on  a  time  the  site  of  rights  impure, 


1 88  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

I  lay  me  down  to  rest.     Oh,  keep  away 
All  evil  spirits;  let  them  not  come  near; 
Let  no  malific  influence  infect 
The  air  we  breathe,  or  poison  holy  sleep." 

"  Sleep,"  then,  was  echoed  softly  from  the  east, 
"  Sleep,"  softer  still,  re-echoed  from  the  west; 
And  then  she  knew  that  angel  guards  were  near, 
And  laid  her  down  to  rest.     With  thoughts  firm  fixed 
On  heavenly  contemplations,  down  she  lay 
Until  through  seas  of  slumber  sinking  down, 
Aye  deeper  down,  she  lost  all  sense  of  earth, 
And  slept  like  ring-dove  nestling  'mid  the  rocks. 

Ascend  we  now  with  Joseph  ten  steps  higher, 
And  gaze  around  above  us.     Earth  was  dark, 
And  melancholy  all  her  voices.     Owls 
Screeched  from  the  woods;  foxes,  with  sharp,  shrill  bark, 
Untuned  the  ear  of  night;  hyenas  moaned 
Like  wailing  infants;  watch-dogs  howled  from  far; 
The  distant  Dead  Sea  glimmered  in  the  moon, 
Who  now  showed  half  her  face;  scant  lights  were  seen 
From  villages  remote  and  lone  hill-tops, 
Making  the  darkness  ghastlier. 

Such  the  scene 

On  earth.     But  in  the  heavens,  the  concave  vault, 
From  zenith  down  to  the  horizon's  verge, 
All  round  and  round,  as  far  as  vision  reached, 
Was  all  ablaze  with  splendor.     Joseph's  eye, 
Accustomed  all  his  life  to  splendid  nights, 
Had  never  viewed  one  half  so  glorious. 
Three  planets  were  in  sight:  Mars  in  the  east, 
New  risen,  fresh,  ruddy,  rayed  with  lashes  red; 
Venus,  slow  sinking,  silvery,  and  mild; 
High  Jupiter,  imperial  overhead, 
Near  whom  the  starry  Sickle  hung  in  heaven, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  189 

As  though  an  angel  harvester  had  ceased 
To  cut  the  harvests  of  the  worlds,  and  left 
His  reap-hook  gleaming  on  the  Lion's  mane, 
Such  heavenly  peace  was  symbolized  above. 

Long  Joseph,  spellbound  by  the  glorious  view, 
In  silence  gazed  above  him :     Earth  appeared 
So  dark,  so  dreary,  and  the  heavens  so  bright, 
So  gorgeous,  that  a  yearning  came  upon  him 
('Twas  but  for  one  short  moment)  to  leave  all 
Most  treasured  here  below,  and  (if  he  could) 
To  wing  his  journey  starward.     Soon  this  wish, 
As  something  sinful,  was  expelled; 

—And,  lo! 

Looking  around,  he  saw  close  by  his  side 
A  glorious  angel  standing.     A  bright  crown, 
Gleaming  with  diamond  and  with  chrysolite, 
With  emerald,  and  with  opal,  girt  his  brow, 
Like  Ariadne's  starry  diadem; 
Beneath  its  cirque,  ringlets  of  custering  curls 
Over  his  shoulders  waved,  and  down  his  back. 
Glossed  and  eye-spotted,  like  the  gorgeous  bird, 
Fabled  to  draw  the  car  of  Juno,  were 
His  ample  wings,  loose-folded,  mantling  all 
His  length  of  stature;  an  internal  light 
Not  dazzling,  but  of  softest  tempered  glow, 
Like  the  mild  splendor  of  the  milky-way, 
Invested  him — as  when  a,  spirit-lamp 
Burns,  shaded  of  its  glare,  within  the  round 
Of  a  transparent  lantern,  rainbow-hued. 
His  countenance  expressed  benignity 
And  sweetness,  beautifully  blended  with 
Vigor  and  courage.     Smiling,  he  began, 

"  Be  not  so  startled,  Joseph.     By  thy  side 
Stands  one  who  once  was  mortal  like  thyself, 


190  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

And  bore  the  self-same  name. 

I  too  went  down  to  Egypt,  as  thou  knowest 

From  having  often  read  the  Holy  Book. 

With  Medianitish  merchantmen  I  went 

Across  long  deserts  on  a  camel's  back, 

With  freights  of  myrrh  and  balm  and  spicery 

Slow  journeying  to  the  Nile.     The  tale,  though  true, 

Sounds  like  the  wild  romances  Arabs  tell 

At  night  around  their  camp-fires.     After  death, 

My  spirit  rose  to  Him  who  made  me.     I 

Inhabit  now  the  New  Jerusalem, 

Where  one  day  thou  shalt  see  me.     As  on  earth, 

In  heaven  I  mounted  from  a  lower  grade 

Forever  higher  upwards  in  the  scale 

Of  being — still  expanding — still  ascending — 

Among  the  ranks  of  angels.     I  have  come 

To  talk  with  thee  upon  this  pyramid 

As  spirit  talks  with  spirit,  when  the  one 

Is  prisoned  in  the  bars  of  mortal  flesh, 

And  th'  other  ranges  free  through  airy  space 

Untrammeled,  unimpeded. 

I  have  come 

Commissioned  earthward  by  the  Power  Supreme, 
In  simple  words  such  as  man  speaks  to  man, 
To  tell  thee  that  thy  late  heroic  deed, 
When  thou  didst  slay  the  serpent,  has  been  seen 
With  admiration  by  the  heavenly  host, 
And  by  the  spirits  of  the  universe. 
It  was  an  Evil  Demon  that  informed 
The  body  of  that  snake, — not  Satan's  self, 
But  an  inferior  devil  aping  Satan, 
One  smit  with  pride  Satanic,  who  thus  hoped 
To  consummate  what  Satan  had  begun. 
The  body  he  assumed  thou  didst  destroy, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  191 

The  bestial  soul  still  wanders  o'er  the  earth, 
Watching  his  opportunity.     Fear  not; 
The  hosts  of  heaven  are  now  on  the  alert; 
Hell  and  its  legions  shall  not  harm  the  Babe, 
Or  the  Babe's  mother,  or  his  foster-sire. 
But  be  thyself  still  watchful.     What  thy  arm 
Accomplishes  on  earth  in  His  defense, 
Shall  all  be  written  in  the  books  of  Heaven, 
And  all  shall  be  rewarded. 

I  have  come 

Also  to  give  thine  eye  a  passing  glimpse 
Of  stellar  glories  which  thou  shalt  behold 
Some  future  day  with  vision  spiritual, 
Unclouded,  unobscured.     Long  centuries 
Shall  roll  across  thy  birth-star,  ere  the  truths 
I  now  impart  in  confidence,  shall  be 
Discovered  and  believed  by  mortal  men. 
Each  truth,  when  time  is  ripe  for  it,  shall  burst 
Its  muffling  mask,  and  fill  the  earth  with  light 
And  joy  and  sense  of  power  progressive.     First 
Thy  promise  I  exact,  not  to  divulge 
What,  more  by  hasty  glimpses  than  by  long, 
Laborious  study,  I  shall  now  impart. 
Yet  even  these,  imperfect  though  they  be, 
May  give  thee  some  enjoyment,  foretaste  sweet 
Of  coming  ecstasies,  when  thou  art  free 
To  range  on  spirit-wings  from  world  to  world. 
Wilt  promise  me  ? " 

"  With  all  my  heart  and  soul; 
Time's  secrets,  well  I  know,  awrait  their  turn; 
The  birth  of  the  oncoming  centuries 
Must  not  be  hurried;  morning's  teeming  womb, 
In  halcyon  calmness  undisturbed,  must  rest 
Till  birth-time  be  matured.     But  tell  me,  pray, 


192  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Shall  she,  the  partner  of  my  wanderings, 

Companion  of  my  flight  o'er  desert  sands, 

Remain  ungifted  with  those  lofty  truths, 

One  glimpse  of  which  brings  gladness?     From  the  world 

I  willingly  conceal  such  treasured  thought, 

From  her  to  hide  it  would  be  fraught  with  pain." 

Then,  smiling  sweet,  the  heavenly  Joseph  spoke: 
"Such  hard  condition  hath  not  been  imposed, 
Believe  me,  by  the  Almighty  Sire  of  all. 
Freely  as  is  thy  wont  thou  mayst  converse 
'With  her,  the  partner  of  thy  wanderings, 
To  whom  in  spirit-wedlock  thou  art  bound 
In  sanctity  and  chasteness.     Far  as  words 
Can  body  thought  and  waft  it  to  the  mind, 
Thou  art  at  liberty  to  tell  her  all. 
'Twill  separate  you  two  from  all  the  world 
More  sacredly.     On  this  high  spirit-peak 
You  two  may  stand,  and  interchange  sweet  thoughts 
Together,  like  two  disembodied  souls, 
Conversing  on  the  wonders  yet  untried 
Of  worlds  on  worlds  unnumbered.     Such  high  lore 
Ennobles,  elevates,  and  purifies. 
Tis  meet  that  those  who  educate  God's  Son, 
Should  have  their  souls  expanded  and  enwinged 
More  than  the  souls  around  them." 

Joseph  bowed, 

Like  one  assenting  to  the  words  of  him 
With  whom  he  talks,  and  silent  waits  for  more. 

"Know  first,"  continued  then  the  angel  bland, 
"This  little  earth  thou  liv'st  on,  and  to  which 
Thou  shalt  consign  thy  bones,  is  a  small  sphere, 
Which  we,  the  winged  ones,  can  compass  round 
Ere  from  an  hour-glass  twenty  sands  can  fall. 
Spheroid  in  form,  with  liquid  fire  within, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  193 

With  a  small  band  of  sister-spheres  it  wheels 

In  an  elliptic  pathway  round  the  sun. 

Two  of  these  sisters  I  will  show  you  now. 

Look  through  this  optic  tube.     'Twas  made  in  heaven 

By  my  directions  and  at  my  command, 

With  fixtures  fitted  to  a  mortal  eye, 

And  carefully  stored  up  for  future  use." 

Then  pointing  it  toward  the  darkened  west 

Where  the  fair  planet  Venus,  not  yet  set, 

Still  trembled  on  the  horizon's  brink,  the  angel  bland 

Arranged  it  without  effort,  lightning-quick, 

And  bade  the  mortal  look.     He  looked  with  joy — 

''What  see'st  thou  through  the  optic  tube  ?" 

"  I  see 

What  in  appearance  seems  a  fair  half-moon, 

With  mountains  and  with  valleys  of  its  own, 

A  lovely  world  complete  and  full  of  life, 

One  half  illumined  soft,  and  one  half  hid: 

Oh,  how  my  spirit  pants  to  visit  it." 

"  That  mayhap  thou  may'st  do,"  was  the  reply, 

"  When  thou  hast  burst  thy  fleshly  wrappings;  now 
Far  other  pilgrimage  awaits  thee." 

Next  pointing  to  the  disk  of  ruddy  Mars, 
He  said,  "Behold  the  planet  which  the  Greeks 
Name  from  the  god  of  war.     The  Arabs  too 
Adore  him  as  a  warlike  deity, 
Calling  him  Nergal:  blood-red  fanes  to  him 
They  consecrate,  and  garments  wet  with  blood; 
His  statue  in  one  hand  holds  a  red  sword, 
And  in  the  other  a  dissevered  head : 
Thus  superstition  mounts  up  to  the  stars, 
Disfiguring  them  with  fables." 

"Oh,  how  calm 
He  looks,"  said  Joseph,  "calm  and  bright  in  heaven! 


194  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

What  long  red  lustrous  rays  shoot  round  his  orb! 
How  beautiful !     The  clouds  which  flash  around 
The  setting  sun  not  splendider  in  tint, 
The  morning-red  not  brighter.     Hail,  all  hail, 
Thou  glad  companion  of  my  own  birth-star! 
Oh,  how  I  long  to  wing  my  way  to  thee, 
And  plunge  into  thy  rosy  atmosphere. 
But  tell  me,  hallowed  angel,  why  appear 
His  poles  so  flushed  with  fire  ?" 

"Vast  heaps  of  ice," 

Answered  the  angel,  "gathering  there,  reflect 
The  sun.     Cold  things  are  sometimes  bright.     Behold, 
His  north  pole  has  commenced  with  heat  to  melt, 
His  south  to  freeze  into  an  ampler  curve, 
Up-piling  high  its  frozen  battlements, 
Gleaming  with  glow  antarctic." 

"Oh,  strange,  strange! 
What  I  supposed  was  lovely  flame  at  play 
In  roseate  splendor,  is  a  mount  of  ice. 
I  feel  like  one  who  thought  to  grasp  a  rose 
And  pricks  him  with  a  thorn.     The  denizens 
Of  that  fair  planet,  tell  me,  do  they  suffer 
A  greater  cold  than  we  ?  " 

"The  Sovereign  Sire 

Hath  moulded  them  with  nicest  skill,"  replied 
The  courteous  angel,  "and  with  kindliest  care 
Hath  fashioned  them  to  love  their  ruddy  home. 
With  genial  warmth  bland  summer  gladdens  now 
The  northern  temperate  zone;  the  southern,  with 
Bright  hearths  and  hospitable  fires  they  warm, 
Thawing  frore  winter  through  the  shortened  day, 
And  with  high  festivals  and  jocund  sports 
Making  the  long  night  joyous.     Few  worlds  are 
More  happy  or  more  splendidly  contrived, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  195 

Few  in  its  days  and  years,  and  in  its  climes, 
Resemble  more  our  own.     But  let  us  shift 
The  starry  scene:  behold  another  world!" 
He  pointed  straight  the  tube  to  Jupiter, 
And  cried,  "Now  mark  the  so-called  Jovian  star; 
What  seest  thou  ?     Speak." 

"A  larger  world  of  wonder, 
All  circumzoned  with  curious  belts  and  bands, 
Larger,  but  not  so  red.     To  me  it  seems 
More  distant  from  the  sun.     Between  the  belts 
Methinks  I  can  see  mountain-tops  and  plains, 
All  dimly — dimly.     Moons?  what  lovely  moons! 
One  ?  two  ?  three  ?     No — yes-— one  is  darkening  now, 
And  sinking  in  eclipse.     Another  now 
Is  rising  out  of  shadow!     Glorious  sight! 
Like  our  own  moon  she  seems  when  she  upclimbs 
Above  the  billowy  sea. 
Another  still  far  out  in  distant  space 
Like  finest  pin's-point  twinkling.     Four  in  all?" 

"Four  moons  in  all.     Thou  hast  discerned  aright." 
"  Four  handmaids  seem  they,"  said  the  musing  man, 
"All  waiting  on  their  lord;  some  with  their  veils 
Uplifted;  some  with  faces  muffled  close, 
Advancing  or  receding  round  their  king 
In  sweet  quaternion  dance  that  never  tires." 

"Well  hast  thou  caught  the  glory  of  the  scene/' 
Said  the  grand  spirit,  smiling.     "  Many  a  time 
Has  this  small  globe  called  earth  wheeled  round  the  sun, 
Since  I,  imprisoned  in  a  frame  of  flesh, 
Was  governor  of  Egypt.     Then  I  sat 
On  my  high  chariot,  like  a  rolling  throne, 
And  moving  through  the  streets  on  golden  wheels, 
With  footmen  racing  in  the  front  and  rear, 
And  plumed  cavalry  on  either  side, 


196  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

In  Memphis  or  in  hundred-gated  Thebes, 
Crowds  thronging  bowed  the  knee  and  cried  aloud, 
'Hail,  Savior  of  the  world!'     Then,  in  my  piide, 
I  vainly  thought  no  scene  could  equal  this, 
For  glory  and  for  splendor.     Not  so  now. 
What  thou  hast  just  beheld  is  grander  far, 
And  more  ennobling.     The  comparison 
Between  the  two,  'tis  this  that  makes  me  smile, 
And  eke  thy  childlike  wonder." 

Like  the  glow 

Of  summer  morning  smiled  the  angel  then, 
Looking  with  pleased  attention  on  the  man. 
As  when  some  grand  astronomer,  large-brained, 
Calm-breasted,  full  of  starry  thoughts, 
And  also  full  of  kindly  feelings,  sees 
His  curly-headed  boy  among  his  tubes, 
His  maps,  his  quadrants,  compasses,  and  globes, 
And  smiling,  lifts  him  up  to  take  a  peep 
Through  the  big  telescope,  as  mayhap  once 
The  elder  Herschel  did  his  prattling  son 
(Since  grown  illustrious),  showing  him  with  glee 
Some  dread  volcanic  mountain  in  the  moon, 
Or  some  fine  star,  which  to  the  naked  eye 
Seems  single,  doubled  through  the  magic  tube, 
Thus  kindly  smiled  the  angel  on  the  man. 
"One  planet  more  I  fain  would  show  thee  still," 
Said  then  the  angel,  wrapt  in  calm  regard, 
"  But  have  not  now  the  power.     Before  the  third 
Watch  of  the  present  night  is  passed,  'twill  not 
Arise  to  view — ere  which  I  must  away. 
Oft  sent  on  missions  through  the  universe, 
I  have  upon  its  glorious  orb  alit, 
By  day  and  night,  and  circled  round  its  sphere. 
Full  thirty  of  earth's  years  compose  its  year; 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  197 

So  long  its  orbit,  and  so  slow  its  course 
Around  our  sun;  its  day  is  less  than  half; 
So  quick,  with  all  its  bulk,  it  spins  around 
On  its  own  axis.     In  the  Latin  tongue 
Tis  called  Saturnus.     With  your  present  form 
You  could  not  live  or  breathe  upon  its  orb, 
So  far  off  from  the  sun,  so  strange  its  air, 
So  wonderful  its  climate  and  its  soil. 
Behold  yon  picture." 

At  a  sign  from  him 
Another  angel  instant  floated  down, 
A  rosy  form,  dim-bright,  and  flutter-winged, 
And  placed  within  the  mortal's  hand  a  scroll 
Impictured  with  the  picture  of  a  world, 
More  wonderful  than  any  yet  beheld. 

"  You  see  before  you,"  the  kind  spirit  said, 
"A  sun  in  little,  with  eight  little  worlds, 
And  three  concentric  rings.     Behold  those  moons ! 
One  is  now  rising,  one  is  setting  now; 
One  from  eclipse  is  heaving,  darkening  one; 
One  culminates;  one  touches  the  mid-point 
Between  the  horizon's  verge  and  zenith;  one 
Half-orbed  appears,  one  full.     Behold  the  rings. 
How  grandly  round  the  globe  they  curving  gleam 
With  strange  illumination." 

Though  entranced 

With  what  he  saw,  here  Joseph's  eyelids  closed, 
And  Palinurus-like,  who  gazed  so  long 
Upon  the  Pleiads,  Hyads,  and  the  Pole, 
That  he  could  gaze  no  more  and  fell  asleep, 
So,  from  overstrained  attention,  Joseph  slept. 

An  hour  he  slumbered.     Then  the  o'ertasked  brain 
Awoke  refreshed.     The  angel  still  was  there. 
His  instrument  was  resting  where  it  stood. 


198  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

He  spake  these  words:    "Soon  must  I  leave  thee,  Joseph, 

E'en  should  the  knowledge  thou  hast  gained  to-night 

Appear  to  fade  away  in  part,  and  leave 

Imperfect  traces  of  itself  behind, 

As  soon  as  death  shall  disenthrall  thy  spirit, 

That  knowledge  shall  revive  and  reappear 

In  fresher,  livelier  colors.     E'en  through  life, 

Much,  much  shall  stay  with  thee  through  all  thy  days, 

To  brighten  and  enlarge  thy  mind,  and  make 

Thee  happier.     Oft  delicious  glimpses  shall 

Flash  on  thee  from  the  glories  thou  hast  seen, 

Immersing  thee  in  rapture;  oft  on  nights 

To  come,  shalt  thou  upon  the  desert  wastes. 

The  whilst  the  stars  are  glittering  overhead, 

Draw  pictures  with  thy  staff  upon  the  sands, 

Circles,  ellipses,  planispheres,  and  cones, 

And  pointing  first  to  desert,  then  to  sky, 

Explain  heaven's  mysteries  as  best  thou  canst, 

To  her  who  is  the  pole-star  of  thy  life." 

He  paused  and  waved  his  hand.     A  moment  more 

Both  instrument  and  spirit  disappeared. 

The  mortal,  so  it  seemed,  stood  all  alone. 

Such  solitude,  after  such  company, 

Oppressed  and  weighed  him  down;  so  he  resolved 

To  find  his  preappointed  sleeping  place, 

And  rest  till  morning. 

Passing  by  the  fane, 

Where  the  blessed  Virgin  lay,  with  timid  step 
He  entered  in,  beheld  the  torch  still  burning, 
Beheld  the  Mother  and  the  Child  asleep; 
Ottar  of  roses  sweetened  all  the  air, 
And  lavender,  from  aromatic  hills, 
Perfumed  the  carved  rotunda;  there  they  lay, 
So  innocent,  so  pure,  so  beautiful, 


The   Flight  into  Egypt.  199 

The  Virgin,  and  the  Virgin's  Child,  asleep. 
Then  Joseph  knelt  adown  in  silent  prayer, 
Turning  his  gaze  to  those  so  softly  sleeping. 
Of  all  that  he  had  seen  and  heard  that  night, 
This  vision  touched  him  most.     He  smiled,  he  wept, 
He  was  awe-struck,  enraptured.     Scarce  possessed 
Of  power  to  tear  himself  away,  he  knelt 
In  that  same  reverent  posture  minutes  blest, 
Thinking  in  that  short  time  a  world  of  thoughts, 
Prayer  in  his  heart,  and  silence  on  his  lips, 
Adoring,  gazing,  wrapt  in  holy  trance. 
Then  slowly,  softly  creeping  down  the  steps, 
Those  trinal  steps  which  downward  led  him,  on 
To  where  a  platform  carved  from  solid  rock 
O'erhung  the  side  of  that  old  pyramid, 
He  stretched  his  limbs  to  slumber,  gazing  on 
The  stars,  until  his  lids  were  closed  in  sleep. 


CANTO  VI. 

THE  LOVE- FEAST  ON  THE   MOUNT. 

flJLL  many  a  star  arose  and  many  set, 
From  hour  to  hour  throughout  the  holy  night, 
And  still  the  Virgin  lay  in  dreamless  rest, 
And  if  dreams  came  at  all,  they,  bubble-like, 
Floated  adown  the  noiseless  stream  of  sleep 
Unheeded,  unremembered.     But  when  dawn 
Sent  her  first  messengers  around  the  east, 
A  vision  came,  gift  of  her  guardian  angel, 
Which  filled  her  brain  with  splendor. 

She  beheld 

A  heavenly  spirit  on  a  floating  car 
Of  roseate  cloud,  who  thus  addressed  her:  "Wake, 


200  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Mary,  awake.     Another  day  will  soon 
Rise  o'er  the  earth,  and  thou  must  journey  far 
Ere  sunset.     Thy  tired  pilot  slumbers  still; 
For  he,  great  part  of  the  past  night,  was  wrapt 
In  high  communion  with  a  holy  angel, 
Concerning  secrets  of  the  \vorld  of  stars. 
Some  centuries  agone,  this  antique  dome 
Where  thou  hast  slumbered  was  a  noted  fane, 
Where  rites  reputed  holy  were  performed, 
And  where  a  priestess  lived  both  day  and  night. 
On  th'  east  side  of  this  circular  room  there  is 
A  secret  door,  which  opens  inwardly 
On  a  short  passage,  leading  to  a  bath, 
Which  in  old  times  was  kept  in  good  repair, 
And  fed  by  cisterns  filled  with  rain-water, 
Stored  there  for  instant  use.     For  many  an  age 
These  works  had  been  neglected;  but  last  night 
By  angel-hands  the  cisterns  were  replaced 
By  others  new  and  clean,  and  angel-hands, 
In  golden  buckets,  bore  from  melting  clouds 
Good  store  of  purest  water.     Hie  thee  there, 
Madonna  blest,  ere  sunrise;  bathe  thy  limbs; 
Refresh  them  with  sky-water  sweet  and  cool; 
Then  bathe  the  Holy  Child/5 

Mary  arose  ' 

And  did  as  the  Sweet  Vision  ordered  her, 
And  found  the  lavatory  all  complete, 
And  turned  a  little  spile  fixed  on  a  tube, 
And  saw  the  lucid  waters  gushing  out 
As  sweet  as  when  they  left  the  melting  clouds. 

She  bathed  and  was  refreshed.     Then,  tracing  back 
Her  buoyant  steps,  she  bore  the  Holy  Child 
To  the  same  spot,  and  bathed  his  blooming  limbs, 
Till,  like  a  rosebud  moist  with  morning  dew, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  20 1 

The  sweet  grew  sweeter,  fresh  grew  fresher  still, 
And  the  pure  human  body,  miniature  shrine 
Of  Godhead,  gleamed  within  the  wave 
Like  to  a  delicate-tinted  water-lily 
Emerging  from  a  lake.     Oh,  then  they  felt 
So  happy  both,  so  joyous,  so  refreshed ! 

Then  out  she  peeped  to  see  how  Joseph  fared, 
And  found  him  wrapped  in  slumber  undisturbed, 
With  arms  soft-folded  crosswise  on  his  breast, 
And  face  which  e'en  in  sleep  was  starward  turned, 
As  if,  star-gazing,  he  had  sunk  to  rest. 
The  shelf  on  which  he  slept,  with  dizzy  poise 
Hung  o'er  a  dangerous  depth;  but  there  he  lay 
The  image  calm  of  slumbrous  quietude, 
Breathing  so  regular  and  rhythmical, 
That  well  she  knew  his  pulse  beat  healthily. 

Some  lilies  of  a  new  and  lovelier  kind 
Than  any  she  had  ever  seen  before 
Were  scattered  up  and  down  along  the  steps — 
Those  three  fair  sloping  steps,  which,  mystic-wise, 
Led  from  the  rounded  chamber  where  she  slept 
To  where  her  Pilot  rested  airily. 
She  knew  not  whence  those  wondrous  lilies  came, 
Or  what  they  meant — she  only  knew  how  sweet, 
How  heavenly  sweet  they  smelt,  how  pure  they  looked, 
How  snow-white  and  immaculate  they  were. 
Elastic,  to  the  hill-top  next  she  tripped, 
Bearing  the  Holy  Infant  in  her  arms, 
And  long  stood  gazing  on  the  dawning  scene, 
Stars  fading,  morn  advancing — a  faint  rim 
Of  delicate  red,  with  here  and  there  a  break, 
Clasping  the  horizon  circle-wise  and  soft, 
E'en  as  she  clasped  her  treasure.     Far  north-east, 
Fogs  heavy-dark  o'erhung  the  torpid  lake 


202  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Called  the  Dead  Sea,  as  if  a  sable  band 

Of  black  death-angels  had  outspread  their  plumes 

To  hide  its  horror  from  the  coming  dawn, 

And  cover  up  with  dusk  Tartarean  veils 

The  very  site  where,  in  the  days  of  old, 

Stood  Sodom  and  Gomorrah. 

On  the  brink 

Long  she  stood  gazing.     When  she  turned  her  face, 
Lo!  on  that  natural  pyramid  she  saw 
A  dainty  table  spread,  and  all  inlaid 
With  costliest  gems,  and  rare  mosaic  work, 
Like  that  which,  in  the  land  where  Arno  flows, 
Is  called  "  pietra  dura."     Lions'  paws, 
In  number  four,  ended  four  golden  legs 
On  which  the  table  stood;  four  golden  beaks, 
Like  those  of  eagles,  formed  the  upper  parts; 
Symbolic  griffons  these — the  types  of  strength 
And  swiftness — types  of  lordliness  on  earth 
And  of  dominion  in  the  upper  air. 

She  saw  not,  knew  not,  by  what  unseen  hands 
That  table  had  been  wafted  from  afar. 
Achilles'  fabled  shield,  by  Vulcan  framed, 
Contained  upon  its  round,  of  pictured  scenes 
A  greater  number  crowded  in  small  space, 
But  not  more  beautiful  in  workmanship, 
Or  more  suggestive  of  swift-thronging  thoughts. 

There  Paradise  was  pictured.     There  appeared 
The  rivers  four  which  through  the  Garden  flowed; 
The  encircling  mountains  towering  up  so  high; 
The  angel  watchers  on  the  mountain  top; 
There  our  first  parents  in  successive  scenes — 
Adam,  in  that  grand  moment,  when  he  sprang 
To  life,  all  perfect  from  the  Maker's  hand, 
And  saw  a  world  around,  above,  beneath, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  203 

All  beautiful,  all  new:  the  birth  of  Eve, 
Adam's  full  rapture  and  Eve's  wonderment; 
Their  nuptial  arbor,  their  espousals  pure; 
Their  fragrant  garden-work  at  dawn  of  day 
Among  fresh  flowers  and  overarching  vines; 
Their  walks  by  moonlight  over  dewy  hills; 
Their  rambles  through  long  woodland  avenues 
At  quiet  eventide;  their  orisons 
On  bended  knees,  with  hand  in  hand  enclasped; 
Their  sweet  repasts,  with  angels  for  their  guests; 
Their  noontide  slumbers  under  fanning  palms, 
With  lions  sleeping  round,  and  spotted  pards, 
And  elephants;  such  charming  scenes,  in  short, 
As  the  Miltonic  muse  in  after  days, 
In  words  more  vivid  than  an  artist's  pencil, 
Depictured  to  the  life. 

Not  to  the  fall, 

Temptation  and  sad  fall,  extended  they; 
That  darkening  view  of  Eden  was  not  there; 
Nothing  but  life  and  joy  and  innocence, 
Confiding  love,  and  mutual,  pure  esteem. 
Mary  immaculate  stood  long  entranced 
Above  the  table's  polished,  pictured  round, 
And  read  the  pictures  as  we  read  a  book. 
The  Infant  Saviour  too,  young  as  he  was, 
Appeared  to  understand  much  that  he  saw, 
And  pointing  now  at  this  and  then  at  that, 
He  looked  at  Eve  and  called  her  "  his  mamma;" 
And  when  he  viewed  her  with  her  tresses  long 
At  work  among  the  flowers,  or  standing  by 
A  lakelet's  brink  (her  image  mirrored  there) 
He  clapt  his  little  hands  and  crowed  for  glee. 
Then  down  she  tript  to  where,  upon  the  rock, 
Her  pilot  and  her  mortal  guardian  slept, 


204  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

And  with  a  bird-like  carol,  soft  and  sweet, 

She  strove  to  rouse  him  gently.     By  degrees 

The  dulcet  music  reached  his  sleep-sealed  brain, 

And  mingling  pleasingly  with  his  own  dreams, 

Caused  him  to  smile  and  utter  silly  words, 

Joining  disjointed  phantasies  together, 

Whereat  she  laughed,  and  sang,  and  laughed  again, 

And  said:  "Such  madcap  phrases  ill  agree, 

Methinks,  with  a  land-pilot's  dignity." 

A  spice  of  girlishness  thus  seasoned  oft 

Her  frolic  words  and  ways,  like  blooming  flowers 

Around  the  statue  of  a  worshiped  saint. 

Joseph  at  last  awoke,  and  knew  at  once 
Her  cause  of  mirth.     She  told  him  of  the  bath, 
And  of  the  table  on  the  high  hill-top, 
And  of  its  wondrous  pictures.     Much  amazed, 
He  did  at  once  as  she  instructed  him, 
And  in  due  time  returned,  refreshed  and  cooled, 
When,  both  ascending  to  the  highest  point 
Of  that  strange  mount,  they  saw  the  table  there, 
On  the  same  spot,  but  not  now  bare  of  food; 
For,  on  its  pictured  surface  now  appeared 
Plates,  goblets,  spoons,  and  knives,  and  chalices 
Of  gold,  and  in  their  proper  vessels,  bread, 
Some  dainty  bits  of  savory  meat,  and  eggs; 
And  for  their  drink  pure  water  from  fresh  springs, 
Deep  underground  (by  spirits  fetched  from  thence), 
And  to  give  richer  zest  to  the  repast, 
A  tiny  cup  stood  by  the  plate  of  each, 
Filled  with  some  aromatic  cordial, 
Extract  perhaps  of  that  Arabian  berry, 
Now  known  and  prized,  and  used  both  east  and  west, 
With  balmiest  spices  flavored. 

Aye,  as  the  blissful  feast  was  going  on, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  205 

Did  one  or  other,  with  supreme  delight, 

Lift  up  a  plate  or  vessel  and  behold 

The  pictured  figures  that  adorned  the  same, 

Suggestive  of  the  age  of  gold,  or  calling  up 

In  fancy  man's  primeval  happiness, 

His  purity  and  innocence: 

A  herd  of  antlered  deer,  a  flock  of  birds 

Circling  in  rapture  round  the  woman's  head, 

Swans,  silver-white,  disporting  on  clear  lakes, 

Peacocks,  with  all  their  painted  plumes  unfurled, 

Fair  birds  of  Paradise  upon  the  wing, 

Fl^jng  against  the  spicy  breeze,  or  perched 

On  airiest  palms,  or  that  still  lovelier  bird, 

With  twelve  outbranching  feathers  in  its  tail, 

And  two  more,  fashioned  like  an  antique  lyre, 

Hence  called  the  Lyre-bird,  found  in  far-off  isles 

Of  th'  utmost  orient.     (Often  did  the  CHILD 

Admire  this  gorgeous  fowl,  and  often  count 

The  feathers  in  the  fan-like  tail  outspread.) 

Then  there  were  gentle  antelopes  asleep 

Between  maned  lions'  paws,  a  snowy  lamb 

Licking  a  tiger's  uncontracted  claws, 

And  all  creation,  tree,  and  stream,  and  beast, 

At  peace !  at  peace  1 

Thus  Joseph  and  the  Virgin  sat  at  meat, 

And  feasted  charmingly  upon  the  height. 

And  ever  and  anon  ambrosial  airs 
Played  round  them,  sporting  with  fair  Mary's  locks, 
And  blowing  Christ's  into  more  graceful  curves, 
Airs  fresh  from  heaven,  or  wafted  round  them  soft 
By  plumes  invisible:  airs  novel  now 
And  never  known  on  earth;  now,  earthly-sweet, 
Such  as  in  springtide  eastern  gardens  waft, 
Sweet  breath  of  myrrh,  or  modest  mijnonette, 


206  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

Or  orange,  rose,  vanilla,  tuberose, 
Or  beds  of  fresh-blown  pansies. 

Thus  Joseph  and  pure-hearted  Mary  sat 
And  feasted  charmingly  upon  that  mount. 

Not  Adam's  self  and  Eve  before  the  fall 
Ever  partook  a  banquet  with  more  joy, 
Or  thanked  the  Giver  with  a  warmer  heart. 
Not  by  set  words  of  thanks,  spoke  parrot-wise 
And  mumbled  out  with  artificial  drawl, 
They  thanked  Him;  but  by  gayety  of  heart, 
By  larklike  upward  mounting  of  the  soul, 
By  warm  benevolence  to  all  mankind, 
By  silent  bursts  of  prayer  heard  but  by  God, 
By  clear  pure-heartedness,  and  by  the  love 
They  bore  each  other,  and  their  Present  Lord, 
They  thanked  Him  constantly,  through  all  the  feast. 

A  love-feast,  was  it?     Feast  of  love  indeed! 
Immaculate  Mary  never  looked  more  gay, 
More  merry-hearted,  rosy-cheeked,  more  pure, 
With  now  and  then  a  flight  of  innocent  wit, 
Like  a  light  arrow,  feathered,  but  unbarbed, 
Blown  by  some  gay  child  through  a  hollow  reed, 
To  fondle  with  the  wind,  and  which  ofttimes 
Is  wafted  backwards  to  the  rosy  mouth 
Which  had  propelled  it. 

So  they  sat  at  meat, 
And  feasted  with  their  LORD  upon  the  mount. 

To  close  the  banquet,  each  then,  sip  by  sip, 
Drank  from  the  cup  prepared  by  angel-hands 
For  their  refreshment — cordial  of  bland  power — 
And  as  the  aromatic  liquid  spread 
Its  soft,  diffusive  glow  along  their  nerves, 
And  gradual  through  the  brain,  the  soul  itself 
Was  gently,  blandly  influenced  by  the  draught, 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  207 

And  in  serener  mood,  with  steadier  thrill, 
Became  still  more  conceptive  than  before, 
More  keen,  more  smooth,  more  active,  more  becalmed, 
And  (strange  to  tell)  more  dreamy-wide-awake. 
Then  Joseph,  in  fine  mood  for  it,  began 
Again  to  tell  that  curious  mystic  dream, 
Which  he  the  eve  before  would  have  commenced, 
Had  not  young  Kedar's  advent  called  him  off. 
That  dream,  like  Delos,  had  been  floating  loose 
Upon  his  memory,  drifting  to  and  fro, 
Like  Delos,  which,  as  classic  poets  tell, 
Was  birthplace  of  the  twins,  Apollo  bright, 
And  Artemis,  the  silver-shafted  Queen; 
Like  Delos,  isle  afloat  upon  the  sea. 
Many  a  year  the  vivid  vision  waved 
Before  his  spirit,  brighter  now,  now  dimmer, 
Varying  in  shape,  in  substance  still  the  same, 
That  oft  he  doubted  whether  'twere  a  dream, 
Or  something  witnessed  by  his  waking  eyes. 
'Twas  called  "  The  Seven  Spirits  of  the  Rainbow, 
Seen  in  a  Vision  on  the  Temple's  Top." 
Now,  all  his  doubts  were  solved.     During  the  night 
The  dream  had  reappeared.     In  all  its  freshness 
It  came  back  to  him  for  the  second  time 
With  all  its  imagery,  its  lyric  bursts, 
Its  music  and  its  sights;  it  came  again, 
And  now  the  floating  isle  became  the  fixed. 
Then  Joseph  told  the  vision.     Like  a  seer 
Or  prophet  of  the  olden  days  he  told  it; 
But  we,  for  lack  of  time,  must  pass  it  by, 
Or  fold  it  on  its  shelf  for  future  use, 
If  called  for.     Mayhap  no  one  cares  for  it. 
If  so,  it  may  in  darkness  rest,  to  kindle 
A  Christmas  fire  upon  some  future  year, 


208  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

And  help  to  cheer  that  joyous  holiday. 

When  he  had  finished,  Mary  thanked  him  sweet, 
But  he,  for  recreation,  played  with  Christ. 
As  some  flight-happy  pigeon  \vings  its  way 
To  a  near  bubbling  fountain-head  to  drink, 
Or  to  a  meadow  streamlet,  there  to  bathe 
And  purify  its  painted  plumes,  and  play, 
Scattering  the  water-drops  around  like  pearls, 
So  Joseph  to  the  fountain-head  repaired 
Of  all  man's  renovation  and  delight. 

He  played  with  Christ.     O,  sweet  disport  indeed! 
He  bore  him  on  his  shoulders  round  the  mount 
Three  times,  and  pointed  out  the  far  Dead  Sea 
And  the  dim-glimmering  temple.     Then  three  times 
He  lifted  him  aloft  to  full  arm's  length, 
And  danced  him  up  and  down  delightedly; 
Such  joy  had  they  that  morning  on  the  height, 
Such  innocent  entertainment  and  such  mirth. 


CANTO  VII. 

KING   HEROD  AND  THE  YOUNG   MOTHER. 

a  hill  which  had  been  formed  by  art, 
By  art  had  been  up-piled  and  sloped,  arose 
A  structure  vast  and  beautiful  to  view, 
Distant  from  Zion's  mount  a  score  of  leagues, 
Half  palace  and  half  fortress. 
A  town  had  gathered  round  the  terraced  hill, 
With  circular  streets  concentric  widening  out 
Into  the  circumjacent  plain  afar, 
With  gardens  intermixed  and  shady  groves. 
Water  on  arching  aqueducts  was  borne 
From  neighboring  hills,  the  purest  and  the  best 


The  Flight  into, Egypt.  209 

To  keep  the  gardens  green,  the  fountains  full, 

And  even  to  supply  with  freshening  stream 

The  lofty  castle's  loftiest  marble  hall. 

Like  spokes  in  some  vast  wheel,  the  circular  streets 

Were  cut  by  others  from  a  central  point 

Outraying.     This  point  was  the  castle's  self. 

In  our  own  times  a  city*  may  be  seen 

In  Germany  after  this  fashion  built, 

Save  that  one  half  consists  of  mansioned  streets, 

The  other  of  a  park,  with  avenues 

Of  shady  boscage,  spoke-wise,  cirque-wise  planned, 

Each  answering  to  the  other. 

The  castle,  with  its  appertaining  town, 

Was  named,  by  him  who  planned  it,  from  himself, 

Herodion.     There  the  tyrant  dwelt,  and  there 

The  vision  w^afts  us,  showing  at  a  glance 

Outside  and  in,  the  castle  and  its  lord, 

The  building  and  the  builder,  through  and  through. 

The  structure  was  peculiar.     Lofty  stairs, 

By  more  than  a  hundred  steps  ascending,  led 

To  a  vast,  sloping  terrace;  thence,  through  gates 

Of  strongest  brass,  with  bolt  and  bar  made  firm, 

The  way  led  (woe  to  most  that  entered  there) 

To  a  broad  courtyard,  where  the  measured  tread 

Of  armed  sentinels  forever  rang 

Along  the  marble  pavement  day  and  night. 

This  passed,  a  passage  long  and  tortuous,  led 

Into  another  court  where  sentinels 

Were  also  on  the  watch,  forever  armed. 

In  the  last  courtyard,  last  and  innermost, 

Was  seen  a  grim  array  of  instruments 

Of  torture,  of  all  kinds  and  every  form — 

Racks,  thumbscrews,  pincers  (to  be  used  red-hot), 

*  Carlsruhe,  in  the  Grand  Duchy  of  Baden. 


212  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

The  bearer  of  most  glorious  news.     The  Child, 

That  one  day  shall  be  king  of  all  the  earth, 

As  seers  foretold  and  wise  men  from  the  east, 

And  whom  you  have  been  searching  for  in  vain, 

Has  disappeared — the  Mother  and  the  Child— 

I  know  where  they  have  fled — the  time,  the  place — 

By  accident  I  learned  it;  no  one  else 

In  all  Judea  knows  the  secret.     Speak 

The  word,  great  king,  and  grant  me  audience. 

I  will  impart  the  whole  most  truthfully, 

And  spare  your  majesty  a  world  of  toil." 

The  king  then  read  the  words  again — again — 
And  pondered  long  upon  their  import  strange. 
At  last  he  called  for  parchment  and  a  pen, 
Wrote  out  a  passport  to  admit  the  maid, 
And  sealed  it  with  "his  royal  signet-ring. 

The  servant  bore  it  swiftly  to  the  maid, 
And  bade  her  follow.     Swiftly  bolt  and  bar 
Flew  backwards;  magic-quick  then  door  on  door 
Flew  open;  onwards,  upwards  trod  the  maid, 
With  firm,  unfaltering  footstep.     Closely  veiled, 
She  trod  before  the  king  and  bowed  the  knee 
As  if  in  deep  obeisance.     Then  the  king 
Gave  signal  to  the  servitors  to  leave 
The  hall — but  with  a  chosen  band — to  take 
Their  stations  out  of  sight,  but  within  call, 
Ready  to  answer  any  signal-word. 

The  servants  bowed,  obeyed.     The  hall  was  left 
With  only  those  two  human  beings  in  it, 
An  aged,  guilty  king — a  woman  veiled. 

"  The  writing  on  this  palm-leaf — is  it  thine  ? " 
Then  asked  the  wrinkled  king,  with  stealthy  glance, 
Holding  the  letter  full  in  sight.     "Tis  mine." 
"  Your  name  ?  "     "  Salome."     "And  your  residence  ? 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  213 

"  My  home  for  two  years  past  was  Bethlehem,' 
Answered  the  speaker,  with  a  voice  so  sweet, 
So  musical,  that  to  his  ancient  ear 
It  sounded  like  the  voice  of  days  long  past, 
When  Mariamne  lived  and  called  him  lord. 
"  For  two  most  happy  years,"  she  spoke  again, 
"  I  lived  in  Bethlehem,  in  David's  town." 
"  Where  were  you  born  ?  " 

"Upon  Judea's  hills. 
My  father  was  a  herdsman,  rich  in  flocks. 
1  often  sported,  whilst  a  child,  with  lambs, 
And  early  fell  in  love  with  innocence. 
Five  brothers  grew  up  with  me;  all  five  strong, 
And  having  in  their  cheeks  the  rose  of  health." 
"  Have  you  no  sister?  " 

"  Only  one,  my  lord  ; 
But  one  most  dearly  loved." 

"  Her  name,  I  pray  ? " 
"Her  name?     O,  how  I  loved  her!     Liberty." 

The  wrinkled  king  began  to  tremble  then, 
And  was  about  to  call  aloud  for  help, 
When,  lo,  as  quick  as  thought,  her  veil  was  doffed, 
A  dagger  quivered  in  her  uplift  hand, 
And,  swift  as  arrow  loosened  from  the  bow, 
She  sprang  towards  the  king,  and  made  a  lunge 
Directly  at  his  heart.     Thanks  to  his  coat  of  mail — 
A  miracle  of  cunning  workmanship — 
Link  upon  link  and  scale  on  jointed  scale — 
The  dagger  glanced  aside.     The  blow  had  failed. 

The  wrinkled  king  laughed  loud  with  fiendish  glee. 
"  Ha,  ha!  the  surge  has  tossed  against  a  rock 
And  broken  into  foam."     Then,  stooping  down 
To  seize  the  dagger  fallen  from  her  hand, 
And  feeling  rapidly  both  edge  and  point, 


214  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

"The  blow  was  ably  aimed,  the  weapon  keen," 
He  said,  "  pity  't  has  failed.     In  after  times 
Men  would  have  read  how  the  great  Herod  fell 
Beneath  a  maiden's  arm.     What  hinders  me 
E'en  now  to  sheathe  it  in  thy  heart  ? " 

"My  heart 

Is  ready,  eager  to  receive  it.     Strike." 
She  opened  wide  her  arms,  and  threw  them  up, 
Expanded  wide  her  chest,  like  one  whose  soul 
Has  lifted  her  above  the  fear  of  death, 
Or  like  some  disembodied  spirit  freed 
From  flesh,  and  all  its  crouching  cares  and  fears, 
And  which,  superior  to  mortality, 
Looks  down  on  kings  and  boasted  kingly  power 
As  something  far  beneath  it.     "Strike,  I  say; 
This  heart  quails  not  before  King  Herod — strike. 
I  have  deceived  thee — thus  far  I've  done  wrong. 
I,  who  was  never  known  in  all  my  days 
To  use  deceit  or  falsehood,  practiced  them 
On  thee,  that  I  might  take  away  thy  life. 
Thus  much  I've  erred — may  God  in  heaven  forgive  me. 
She  ended  with  an  upward  glance,  as  if 
Imploring  pardon,  not  from  earthly  powers, 
But  from  the  great  Creator.     As  she  stood 
In  this  grand  attitude,  the  cruel  king, 
Wrinkled  in  front  and  reprobate  at  heart, 
And  clotted  o'er  and  o'er  with  leprous  sin, 
E'en  he,  for  one  short  moment,  gazed  with  awe 
And  admiration.     In  her  youthful  beauty, 
Her  symmetry  of  limb,  her  faultless  form, 
He  fancied  he  could  see  (and  so  he  could) 
Some  traces  of  similitude  to  one 
Whom  in  his  noon  of  manhood  he  had  loved 
As  much  as  heart  so  selfish  e'er  could  love — 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  215 

His  murdered  Mariamne.     This  thought  thawed 
For  one  short  moment  that  old  ^tna-heart, 
Snow-capped  and  yet  volcanic. 

"  Strike,  I  say," 

She  spoke  now  in  a  milder,  calmer  tone, 
Like  one  who,  having  prophesied  the  worst, 
Looks  on  the  worst  with  grand  tranquillity; 
"  The  world  holds  now  no  creature  I  once  loved. 
I  am  no  maiden,  Herod,  but,  though  young, 
I  was  a  mother.     Cruel,  cruel  king! 
I  had  two  blooming  boys — twins — lovely  twins — 
So  like,  their  mother  scarce  knew  one  from  other; 
So  beautiful,  the  mountaineers  and  shepherd-folk 
Would  flock  from  miles  around  to  gaze  upon  them. 
Your  bloodhounds  tracked  them  out.     They  lapped  their 

blood. 

My  husband,  noblest,  bravest  among  men, 
When  he  beheld  his  rosy  innocents, 
Dead  side  by  side — stone-dead  his  darling  boys — 
Their  mother  on  the  ground  as  if  dead  too 
(I  fear  he  thought  I  was) — was  frenzy-struck, 
And  as  I  since  have  heard,  he  rushed  among 
The  ruthless  soldiers  wildly — then  with  cords 
They  bound  him  hand  and  foot — at  night  he  broke 
The  ligaments,  and  wandered  off — 
No  one  can  tell  me  where.     I've  told  my  tale." 

Her  woman's  nature,  noble  as  it  was, 
Heroic  as  it  had  become  from  woe, 
Could  stand  it  now  no  longer.     In  her  hands 
She  hid  her  lovely  face,  so  finely  shaped, 
So  fashioned  by  her  God  to  be  beloved, 
She  hid  her  face  and  shook.     O,  how  she  sobbed ! 
That  noble,  lovely  mother,  how  she  sobbed ! 
And  ever  as  she  sobbed,  she  kept  on  saying: 


216  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

"  My  boys,  my  boys,  my  darling  twin-born  boys." 
Twas  well  the  soldiers  waiting  near  the  hall 
Had  not  been  present — well  for  Herod  then — 
I  think  they  would  have  torn  him  limb  from  limb, 
Or  hurled  him  headlong  from  the  balcony. 

She  lifted  up  her  head,  and  dried  her  tears, 
And  stood  before  the  tyrant  as  before, 
Defiant  and  disdainful.     Not  a  worm, 
A  crawling,  slimy,  wriggling  coffin-worm, 
Has  e'er  excited  such  a  loathing — such 
A  deep,  untold,  unwordable  disgust, 
As  did  in  her  that  foul,  sin-cankered  king. 
He  saw  it  in  her  eye,  her  beautiful  face, 
Which,  like  Medusa's  (seemed  to  him),  though  fair, 
Fringed  round  with  serpents,  each  one  hissing  at  him. 
His  hoary  heart  'gan  fail.     He  gave  the  call, 
The  signal-call  for  help.     Then  armed  men 
Rushed  in  and  thronged  around.     The  old  king  quailed; 
But,  not  to  show  his  fear,  he  rallied  soon, 
And  bade  them  for  the  present  stand  anear, 
But  not  to  offer  aught  of  violence. 
The  demon  in  him  was  again  aroused, 
The  hot,  unsating  thirst  for  human  blood, 
Added  to  which  was  hatred  of  that  being 
Who  looked  upon  him  with  such  deep  disdain. 

Then  Herod,  for  that  he  was  growing  weak, 
And  that  his  head  began  to  swim,  his  knees 
To  knock  together,  and  his  jaws  to  quake, 
Between  two  crouching  body-servants,  crept 
Up  to  his  golden  throne,  and  took  his  seat, 
Pale,  haggard,  and  bewildered.     Then  he  called 
For  wine  to  give  him  strength — wine  came — he  drank. 
This  turned  his  weakness  to  convulsive  force, 
To  fearful  wreathing  spasms.     The  pains  of  hell 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  217 

Seemed  to  torment  him  ere  his  time;  hell-fire 
(In  latent,  inward  shape,  but  true  hell-fire) 
Seemed  creeping  serpentlike  through  all  his  limbs, 
Through  all  his  vital  parts,  with  withering  heat. 
For  years  those  symptoms  had  been  coming  on, 
Nor  was  the  spectacle,  so  dread  to  see, 
New  to  the  guards  or  courtiers. 

When  the  fit 

Had  spent  its  force,  he  looked  around  the  hall, 
•  And  saw  Salome  standing,  statue-like, 
In  all  the  beauty  of  young  womanhood, 
Collected,  self-contained,  as  if  nor  guards 
Nor  courtiers,  servants,  king  nor  kingly  hall 
Concerned  her  aught. 

Then  spoke  the  king  again, 
As  soon  as  he  had  rallied  from  the  fit, 
And  said:  " Salome,  listen.     Thou  hast  tried 
With  sacrilegious  hand  to  kill  thy  king. 
For  this  the  punishment  by  law  is  death. 
But  simple  death  is  punishment  too  slight. 
In  thy  case,  torture  must  precede  thy  death. 
Thou  hast  beheld  my  implements  below, 
How  cunningly  devised  they  are;  how  fit 
To  answer  the  great  purpose  they  subserve. 
Salome,  take  thy  choice.     The  cross,  the  rack, 
The  dropping  grate  (the  same  great  Solomon 
Used  in  Gehenna,  when  the  children's  cries 
Were  smothered  in  the  din  of  drums  and  cymbals, 
Whilst  sacrificed  to  Moloch),  the  spiked  tun 
(Like  that  in  which  great  Regulus  once  rolled), 
The  brazen  bull,  modeled  from  that  which  bears 
The  name  of  old  Phalaris—  these  thou'st  seen, 
And  more  beside.     Salome,  take  thy  choice." 
"  Tyrant,  I'll  make  no  choice/'  Salome  said, 


218  The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

"  As  sure  as  God's  above,  and  thou  sit'st  there 

On  yonder  golden  throne  the  food  for  worms, 

Before  thy  sepulcher  is  closed  above  thee, 

Salome  ne'er  shall  be  thy  tortured  victim. 

I  know  my  Maker  would  not  suffer  it. 

Before  the  screws  were  squeezed,  the  rack  were  stretched, 

The  grate  were  heated,  or  the  spiked  tun  rolled, 

An  angel's  wing,  commissioned  from  above, 

Would  bear  me  from  thy  power.     I  fear  thee  not." 

Then  spoke  the  king  again,  with  mocking  calm: 
"  Or  wouldst  thou  rather,  my  Salome  dear, 
Tread  downwards  to  that  subterranean  realm 
Which  reaches  far  beneath  this  castle?     Ha! 
Deep,  darksome  dens  are  there,  unwholesome,  damp, 
Where  the  toad  houses,  and  the  coiling  snake, 
Where  not  one  ray  of  sunlight  ever  came, 
Where  e'en  the  spider  can  not  live  and  spin, 
Where  never  any  sounds  but  groans  were  heard, 
Or  clank  of  eating  chains.     Come,  take  thy  choice." 

Then  spoke  Salome,  with  a  calm,  firm  voice: 
"  Thy  dungeons  I  fear  not.     Not  mine  to  tread 
Adown  the  steps  that  lead  to  that  dread  realm. 
Salome  has  lived  free — free  shall  she  die — 
Free  as  when  erst  my  native  mountain  breeze 
Freshened  this  youthful  cheek.     I  fear  thee  not." 

"  Now,  soldiers,  seize  her,"  thundered  forth  the  king. 
The  dagger  which  the  king  had  clutched — and  dropped — 
Salome's,  dagger,  still  lay  there  concealed 
In  shadow  on  the  floor.     Like  lightning-flash, 
Salome  leaped  and  seized  it.     Equal  speed 
Drove  on  her  hand — her  arm.     The  dagger  flashed 
One  instant  in  her  grasp — the  next  it  tapped 
Her  life-blood.     How  it  streamed — that  noble  blood ! 
Then,  staggering  forwards  a  few  steps,  she  flung 


The  Flight  into  Egypt.  219 

The  dagger  at  the  panic-stricken  king, 

And  stained  his  royal  robe.     "  Free,  free,"  she  cried, 

"  Salome's  spirit  rises  free  to  heaven, 

Whilst  thou,  a  crawling  reptile,  slim'st  the  clod, 

Sin-spotted,  ripe  for  hell." 

Then  down  she  sank, 

As  though  life's  hour-glass  sands  were  nearly  spent. 
Once  only  did  she  rise  upon  one  arm, 
And,  opening  wide  her  eyes,  like  one  who  scans 
The  future,  seer-like,  and  in  words  distinct, 
But  somewhat  disarranged,  and  frequent  pause, 
She  cried:  "I  see  a  star — God's  Morning  Star — 
How  bright!  how  bright!     Before  creation's  dawn 
Shone  forth — that  shone.    Clear  day  will  follow  soon. 
The  Holy  Babe  is  safe — the  tyrant  foiled — 
Oh,  glory,  glory  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts — 
Night  flies — Oh — I  can  say  no  more — my  breath — 
Is  spent.     Night  flies — day  overfloods  the  world — 
Hail,  holy  Light  Divine!— All  hail— all  hail." 
These  were  the  last  words  fair  Salome  spoke. 
Even  Death  stole  not  all  beauty  from  the  face, 
For  there  the  body  lay  as  in  a  trance, 
With  gently  smiling  lips  and  open  eyes, 
As  though  they  saw  far  off  a  full-sphered  light 
Rising  above  the  nations.     Joy,  O,  joy  I 


NOTES. 


PAGE  35,  CANTO  I. 

Cavern's  Month. — For  an  excellent  account  of  these  curiously 
excavated  caverns  in  the  neighborhood  of  Hebron,  I  would  refer 
the  reader  to  Thompson's  "The  Land  and  the  Book;"  as  also  to 
Robinson's  Book  of  Travel  through  Palestine.  They  were  formed 
in  the  soft  limestone,  or  chalky  rock,  which  abounds  in  that  part  of 
Judea.  Low,  arched  passages  were  cut  in  the  rock,  leading  into 
larger  excavations.  Some  of  these  last  consisted  of  domes  or  bell- 
shaped  apartments,  from  twenty  to  thirty  feet  high  from  the  floor, 
and  in  diameter  from  twelve  to  twenty  feet.  The  top  of  the  dome 
has  usually  a  small  circular  opening  at  the  surface  of  the  ground 
above,  admitting  light  into  the  cavern.  For  the  most  part  there 
were  three  or  four  of  these  chambers  together,  communicating  with 
each  other.  The  miraculous  light,  referred  to  in  the  poem,  is  sup- 
posed to  issue  through  the  circular  opening  alluded  to,  and  may  be 
imagined  to  spread  towards  heaven  in  the  form  of  an  inverted  cone. 

PAGE  100,  CANTO  IX. 
THE  ANOINTED   DOVE. 

"The  attractive  power  of  sweet  ointments,  to  which  Solomon  here  allude-,, 
is  notably  declared  in  that  which  Basil  relates  of  the  manner  of  catching  doves- 
which  was  by  breeding  one  up  tame,  and  then  anointing  her  wings,  they  let  her 
fly  away,  and  the  sweet  odor  of  the  ointment  drew  abundance  of  pigeons  after 
her,  which  she  brought  to  the  cot  of  her  owner." — Patrick's  Commentary  on 
the  Song  of  Solomon . 

'Midst  rocks  and  caverns,  all  alone, 
A  white-winged  dove  was  heard  to  moan; 
All  day,  all  night,  forlorn  she  sate, 
Without  a  friend,  without  a  mate. 

One  morn  a  holy  man  passed  by, 

With  snowy  beard  and  prayerful  eye; 

A  censer  on  his  arm  he  swings, 

With  which  he  fumes  the  sad  bird's  wings. 


222  Notes. 

Charmed  by  the  force  of  odors  bland, 
The  lone  one  perches  on  his  hand; 
And  then,  with  liquids  heavenly  sweet, 
He  bathes  her  eyes,  her  plumes,  her  feet. 

All  dripping  thus  with  holy  dew, 
As  up  morn's  roseate  clouds  she  flew, 
Of  God's  own  garden  the  perfume 
Streamed  on  her  track  from  every  plume. 

For  leagues  on  leagues  those  sweets  she  fanned 
O'er  winding  stream  and  desert  sand. 
And  crcrwded  caravans,  'tis  said, 
With  all  the  camels,  knelt  and  prayed. 

"Is  Eden  floating  down,  indeed?" 
The  Arab  cried,  and  reined  his  steed: 

"Or  hover  o'er  yon  groves  of  palm 
Sweet  angels,  veiled  in  clouds  of  balm  ?  " 

Meanwhile,  amidst  those  caverns  rude, 
All  day  the  holy  hermit  stood, 
Oft  gazing  eastward  in  the  air, 
As  if  winged  visitors  were  there. 

Clambering  at  eve  a  lofty  rock, 
He  saw  a  rainbow-tinted  flock 
Of  doves  fly  towards  the  sinking  sun; 
All  circling  round  th'  Anointed  One. 

"O  Innocence!"  the  old  man  cried, 
"Thou  comest  back,  a  spotless  bride; 
Where'er  thy  heaven-sweet  wings  are  found, 
The  sister  virtues  flock  around.  " 


ERRATA. 


Page  8,  line  19;  for  Arno,  read  Anio. 

Page  15,  line  24;  for  words,  read  worlds. 

Page  20,  line  19;  for  Madagascar's  isle,  read  Ceylon's  torrid  isle. 

Page  21,  first  note;  the  note  should  read:  For  some  account  of 
this  curious  phenomenon,  see  Ansichten  von  der  Nachtseite  der  Nat- 
urwissenschaft,  von  Dr.  Gotthilf  Heinrich  von  Schubert. 

Page  27,  line  19;  for  brines,  read  brine. 


14  DAY  USE 

UN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 


' 


books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


LD  21A-50m-4,'59 
(A1724slO)476B 


.General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


YB   14426 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


229498 


